


The Ddraig

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Sex, Barista Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel is keeping secrets, Christmas, Cutting Toenails, Cutting toenails with woodworking tools, Dragon Castiel (Supernatural), Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, Former Firefighter Dean Winchester, Ghosts, Good Friend Charlie Bradbury, Halloween, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Masturbation, Medium Dean Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Rimming, Roommates to lovers, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Temporary Character Death, Temporary Character Death - Jack Kline, Thanksgiving, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Werewolf Garth Fitzgerald IV, artist Eileen, dean's seen some shit, mild PTSD, toenails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Dean Winchester, former firefighter, works in a coffee shop and lives with his brother, Sam. He has two failed relationships under his belt, has seen some sh*t and has a secret that only one other person knows about. When Sam starts looking to get serious with his girlfriend Eileen, Dean needs to find a new place to live. Enter Castiel Novak and The Ddraig, a former hotel. Cas is looking for a house mate who will get to live rent free if they can help out with his insane toenails. Dean can’t quite believe the offer but agrees to move in with Cas, impossible toenails and all. However, both Dean and Cas soon learn that neither is all that they seem.
Relationships: Background Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradubury, Background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Background John Winchester/Mary Winchester - Relationship, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester - Relationship, background Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 74
Kudos: 260
Collections: DCBB 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dancingmuffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingmuffin/gifts).



> Hecking heck!
> 
> I never thought I'd get here. Completing a fic for the Dean/Cas Big Bang has eluded me for over four years, this is despite me completing bangs for other SPN events. But this year, thanks to a Tweet I saw from [DancingMuffin](https://twitter.com/iamdancingmuffi/status/1216163357184708608), I finally had the germ of an idea I thought I could develop out into a story. And 47,000 words later... here we are.
> 
> I want to say thank you to my amazing artist Flux who asked me questions about my preferences when it comes to Art Deco architecture and has produced amazing art for this story. [You can find their art here](https://aiulbones.tumblr.com/post/632058194004443137/dcbb-2020-art-masterpost-for-the-ddraig-ao3-by).
> 
> Thank you to my beta and awesome friend [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk) for helping iron the story out.
> 
> Thanks to Muffin for sparking my imagination, finally, in a direction where I could finish a story for this bang.
> 
> And thank you to the DCBB mods who, as ever, have done a damn fine job this year.
> 
> If you need some background music while you read, check out my [DCBB 2020 Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5dKHa9vXOG0r1mkeRZiiUA?si=UycDipzPQP2zq_yjDRWtqQ) that I made for writing to. It's 6 hours long.
> 
> This story is a bit cracky in places, I will give you that, but I hope you will all indulge me. And for those who may care: this story is sort of set September through to the end of December 2013.
> 
> See you in the comments.

“The episodes where they go down to a planet when they didn’t intend to, and end up stuck on it and unable to really leave? Those are like the DS9 equivalents of the holodeck gone wild episodes from Next Gen.” Dean took a sip of beer. “It’s hilarious. If the characters knew anything, they’d ban holodecks and random planet side trips.” Scratching his left hand through his dark blond hair, Dean looked over at Sam who was glued to his laptop screen, busily typing away at an email—it was always emails. Dean had never known one person could get so many emails, but he swore that what Sam spent 90% of his waking hours doing was responding to them. How his brother also managed to have a steady girlfriend or shop for anything, including groceries (and mysteriously found time to look at Ikea furniture), Dean had yet to figure out. He’d certainly failed to make much of the summer which was now slipping away as September got up to speed.

Dean tried clearing his throat to get Sam’s attention, twisting around on the deep dark brown leather sofa that dominated the center of the living room. But Sam kept typing away. The living room was spacious enough, one wall occupied by a home media center that Sam rarely got the chance to use.

In the background, the episode of _Star Trek: Deep Space Nine_ Dean had streaming on Sam’s TV switched scenes and they were back with the crew that had stayed behind on the show’s pivotal space station. Sam’s typing paused for a moment and he swore gently under his breath before clicking somewhere else on the screen and starting to type some more. Dean had no idea what Sam’s latest email was about, but they were meant to be hanging out that Monday evening and instead Sam’s bottle of beer sat abandoned on the coffee table, droplets of condensation slowly running off as the bottle warmed. Sam had agreed to watching a few episodes of “DS9” and take part in their ritualistic picking apart of Star Trek episodes, but they were now two episodes in and Dean was wishing he’d banned Sam’s cell phone from hanging out with them so they could have watched in peace. It was the cell that had alerted him to the email and led to the laptop being brought in from Sam’s small home office.

Dean glanced over at Sam and sighed.

“Huh, sorry,” Sam looked up from his laptop and over at Dean. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Dean lied. He looked back at the TV. “Ha, so they’ve gone down to a planet and it turns out everyone on it is a hologram!”

“I missed something, didn’t I?” Sam asked, setting his laptop down and picking up his beer.

Dean wrestled with how much snark to offer. On the one hand, he was glad Sam was living out his dream of being a lawyer. And also that Sam had graciously allowed Dean to move in when his own rental situation had become intolerable. There were only so many times a person could handle waking up to industrial metal at two in the morning, and when his lease was up, Dean hadn’t bothered applying for another one. Sam had taken pity on Dean, and as well as being able to sleep, he had a shorter commute to the coffee shop he worked at in downtown Sioux Falls.

But, if he was taking a moment to be honest with himself—a dangerous thing—it felt kind of weird to be living with his younger brother. He was, after all, in his mid 30s and should have been striking out on his own and all those other societal expectations that breathed down his neck each time he visited their parents. Dean’s love life was permanently both up for and not up for discussion.

Dean picked up the remote and paused the episode. “Hey, maybe we should start back at the start of the episode. I think you missed most of it.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Not like we haven’t watched this before.” Sam nervously ran his thumb down the side of his bottle. “But yeah, maybe we should pause.”

“Oh?” Dean set the remote down and took a swig of his beer.

“Yeah, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Sam said, voice going quiet.

And before Sam said anything, Dean could guess what was up for discussion. The timing—a year since Dean moved in. The weekend trip to Wichita with Eileen two weeks prior. The sudden interest in Ikea furniture. _It adds up_ , Dean thought.

“You want Eileen to move in with you, don’t you? And for me to move out?” Dean set his beer bottle down and stood up. He stretched, going on tiptoes, arms reaching up to the ceiling.

“Oh…” Sam said, surprised it seemed that Dean had read the signs. “Uh, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“You need the space so Eileen has a studio to work in, right?”

A blush rose up on Sam’s cheeks and he ducked his head. “Yeah.”

“Stop it! If you have Eileen living with you, you can’t go hiding your face like that.” Dean grinned.

Sam looked up, fear and surprise mingling on his face. “Of course we won’t do anything until you find somewhere to move to-”

“Already have a viewing for tomorrow afternoon.” And he did. Dean wasn’t stupid, he’d already started looking for somewhere new to rent, heading out to have a look at places several times a week between shifts at the coffee shop and his _busy_ social life. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Everything’s fine.”

***

“Eileen’s moving in! Oh my, that is serious,” Garth said, after a long pause in which Dean wasn’t sure his colleague was going to answer. It was questionable for a moment, because Dean could almost hear the gears in Garth’s brain turning as he assessed what Dean had told him. Garth was well informed on Sam’s lack of any real life outside of his job for Hendricks and Milton, but apparently the Eileen news was a shock.

“They’ve only been going out for six months,” Garth added as he returned to placing fresh pastries out in a glass display cabinet. His green graph check shirt, worn blue jeans with old brown leather boots and black apron gave Garth the look, along with his eclectic wispy blond hair, of some kind of hipster, but Dean knew it was a leftover from growing up in the ass end of nowhere. He’d given up dental school for the chance to open up The Bunker when he’d inherited some money from his last remaining grandmother. For Dean, Garth was a generous employer who had made him assistant manager when his whole world had fallen out from under him. Not that Dean liked thinking about that.

Wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and plain blue shirt, and a pair of steel toe boots, and standing a great deal taller than Garth, Dean was almost his opposite in everything. Where Garth was rangy, Dean was solid, where Garth was pale, Dean was tanned with freckles. Opposites and yet, they worked well together, with them both offering something their customers wanted when they were on shift together.

Dean shrugged and finished booting up the coffee shop’s cash register, as they prepped for Tuesday. It was a technological wonder as far as Dean was concerned, running off an Android tablet, with a cash draw underneath and a small white boxy card reader that connected wirelessly. The cash register the shop had originally had been prone to periods of rebellion and just not working. A longtime coffee fiend and frequent customer, Charlie, had helped kit them out with the new system after witnessing a particularly horrific register malfunction. She’d also been the one to take Dean to the local emergency room.

“At least they’re not getting married yet,” Dean pointed out. “I never understood people getting married before living together for a spell—you have no idea if they’re someone you can even live with and you’re signing a legally binding contract with them, essentially.”

“Won’t your mom and dad be disappointed?” Garth said.

“Nah, they’re not _that_ traditional. So long as the Grandparents don’t find out too soon, we should be fine.”

Getting out from behind the counter, Dean went over to the front door and flipped the sign there from “closed” to “open”. Outside, the morning was just starting to really brighten with September sunshine. He went back behind the counter and checked on the industrial filter coffee pot they always kept going during open hours, for the “no time to make a fuss” drink crowd who just wanted caffeine—and given the chance to absorb intravenously, probably would.

The Bunker tried to cater to all tastes and coffee habits, with free Wi-Fi, power outlets, kids toys and water bowls for dogs (there were snacks at the counter too). A wall near the front of the shop, just inside one window, had a huge cork noticeboard that heaved with events, notices and requests from in and around their local community. Done with the pot looking fine, Dean went back over to the front of The Bunker and checked over the notice board. A few things were out of date (a sign for an open mic night at a local bar, a community theatre production of _Macbeth_ and a flower arranging class), and he untacked those, setting the colorfully topped pins ready in a bottom corner of the board, ready for fresh notices. Garth had always been clear with Dean that he wanted his coffee shop to be a central space for the community, serving them more than just fresh coffee, pastries and delicious cake.

Dean tossed the notices and got behind the counter again as Garth checked out the cash register and made sure the float was okay. Turning to a fresh bag of coffee beans, Dean opened it up, the waft of high end beans making his toes curl as he then upended the contents of the bag into their big red coffee bean grinder. He started the machine and hummed as it crunched and churned, nearly deafening him. After a minute, the grounds were ready and Dean switched off the machine.

“- and I said, ‘You can’t call your cat the Fluid Conspiracy,’ but Mrs Richard’s boy, you know, Timmy, was less than happy about that,” Garth said, finishing a conversation Dean hadn’t even heard going on. It was something Dean had tried to alert Garth to a dozen times before, but this fact always seemed to end up being ignored.

But Dean could just about understand what the topic of conversation had been, so he nodded and said, “I’m guessing ‘Fluid Conspiracy’ is based on the whole ‘cats are a fluid’ meme, right?”

“You got it in one!” Garth grinned and went over to the laptop he used to run music in the coffee shop and set up the quirky, and very British, BBC 6 Music radio station he usually left it on, playing over the internet.

The front door opened, ringing a bell just as _Sabotage_ by the Beastie Boys started playing. Dean found himself wishing it was his day to run the shop, so he could indulge in his classic rock habit—though, if he was giving the station its due, it did sometimes play stuff he liked too.

“Good morning, Viet-nam!” Charlie greeted cheerily, sliding her headphones down as she bustled into the shop. Dean was already reaching for fresh grounds to put through the espresso machine, as Charlie sidled brightly up to the counter. Charlie’s long red hair was bright against the green zip-up hoodie she had on with her jeans.

“Morning, Char. Usual?” Dean asked.

“Of course.” Charlie bounced on her feet like she had already had an oat milk latte with a double shot of espresso that morning, but that was just Charlie.

“Coming up.” Dean sorted out the coffee while Garth took Charlie’s payment.

“How are your classes going?” Garth asked as he finished the sale.

Dean turned a dial, and a jet of steam wooshed out of the steamer on the espresso machine. He glanced up at Charlie and saw her thoughtfully smile as she considered her answer.

“Pretty good. Though one student deleted the class’s entire file server on Monday, so that was fun. The good thing was that I had all their work backed up for them. The bad news? That didn’t include that lesson’s work. So, tomorrow, the first year AP class is going to be redoing Monday’s work.” Charlie sighed and started walking towards the tables. “But they’re good kids.”

Dean understood maybe some of what Charlie had said, but computer science had not been his strong suit at high school. It had been more Sam’s thing—but Dean had been pretty nifty at Photoshop back in the day. Finishing up Charlie’s latte and busing it to her usual table, Dean looked at the lid of her opened laptop. It was covered in stickers, some to do with her LARP group, some to do with programming languages and computer software in general, others to do with general geeky things.

“Thank you,” Charlie said with a smile. “So… you said yesterday you have a viewing after your shift today?”

“Uh-huh. Not far from here. Apartment. Quite new. Comes furnished. I’m hoping it’s the one, considering Sam’s kicking me out.”

Charlie looked aghast. “How dare he! Point me where I need to-”

Dean held up a hand to stop Charlie as she rose from her seat. “Eileen’s moving in. And anyway, I’ve been looking for somewhere almost as long as I’ve been living with him. It’s no big deal.”

Charlie settled back down. “So, things are getting serious between them, huh?”

“Seems so.” Dean sighed and looked towards the door as more customers approached. “Listen, I better get back to work. I’ll text you later.”

“Good luck!” Charlie called after Dean as he caught sight of the first real wave of customers trooping towards The Bunker.

***

The rest of Dean’s shift went by in a blur until it was three in the afternoon and time for him to head on off to the viewing while two of their younger team members took over for the remainder of the day. He jogged out of the coffee shop as the mid afternoon rush started and headed to his car, a sweet ‘67 Chevy Impala, parked down the street. Dean drove the five minutes to head a couple of blocks over and parked up on another street. Putting money in the meter outside the apartment block, Dean looked up at the brown brick building—it looked like an old factory or warehouse that had been converted into clean, modern living.

Walking up the path to the apartments and wondering if this one, the day after being told he had to go, would finally be his new home—Dean tried to keep his expectations in check. He still wanted the universe to line up in his favor for once. It had been three years since Cassie, two since Lisa, and Dean really just needed the rest of his life outside of his work to start going his way. Heading to the intercom for the building, he pressed the button for apartment 3A.

The intercom speakers sprang to life.

“I’m Dean Winchester. Here to see apartment 3A.”

There was no hello or any other greeting, a buzzer sounded and the front door to the apartment opened. Dean headed inside and was greeted by a foyer covered in black and white floor tiles, and walls covered in small versions of what was on the floor. It was a little dizzying. Dean tried to ignore the patterns surrounding him and concentrated on making his way to the stairwell. He headed on up and found himself wondering if he would be able to make it all the way up the stairs after a long night out and with company in tow. Coming up to the third floor, he had to admit that he was glad he wasn’t looking at somewhere on the fifth floor of the building, as he really couldn’t see him making it up to an apartment that far after a good night out. The pristine tiles might end up being less pristine.

Blinking hard and shaking his head, Dean tried to ignore the seasick feeling that churned his stomach as he reached the door to 3A. He knocked and the door opened up under his fist. Dean frowned, but headed inside.

“Hey, I’m here to see the apartment?” Dean called out to the vast empty studio space. Now that he was looking over the slick white surfaces, he began to try and recall the rental ad he’d seen online. He must have seen the space was in his price range, right? But as he stared around the polished insides, with an open plan kitchen with what looked suspiciously like real granite countertops—he was beginning to think that maybe he’d been mistaken.

“Hello?” Dean called again, voice bouncing off the walls, as no one emerged from anywhere. The heating ticked over somewhere deep in the bowels of the building and the wind shifted a large pine outside, its needly branches scratching against the windows. He took a step forward and the highly polished, reclaimed oak creaked under his boots. Dean glanced down and the zigzag Versailles panels looked like they were trying to cycle along like the surface of an escalator, the flowing movement both bizarre and stomach churning.

Dean looked up from the floor, trying to keep his stomach under control and looked around the open plan space again. Sweat prickled on his back and he wondered just why he’d come to this place. _Look, let’s just see if someone’s here, okay?_ Dean thought.

“Hello, is there anybody out there?” Dean called, voice echoing again. He looked up to the ceiling and its surprisingly high beams worked in repainted steel. The red paint gleamed in the afternoon light, like the sticky crimson of fresh blood and Dean looked away, blinking hard. The beams above creaked and his breath fogged in front of him, the temperature of the room suddenly dropping.

“Nope,” Dean said in a low pained voice. He turned and bolted for the door, still blissfully open. Crossing the threshold, the door slammed closed behind Dean, but he didn’t look back as he made his way down the hall and then took the stairwell two steps at a time, ignoring the way the tiles made his stomach lurch.

Scrambling out of the front door, unable to hit the exit button fast enough, Dean raced outside and reached the side of the Impala. The air was warm and there was no wind, not even a breeze. Bent over, Dean sucked in big lungfuls of air and tried to get himself composed. The street was pretty much empty, bar him and so there was no one to see his freakout. It took a while, but slowly his heart slowed from a heart attack to a gentle jog and Dean straightened up to look back at the converted warehouse-cum-apartment building.

“What the hell was that?” Dean muttered. But Dean had an idea, because this wasn’t the first time in his life something like this had happened to him. There’d been many previous occasions. The first one was when he was four and could have sworn there was a fire in his parent’s house, in Sam’s nursery no less. He’d screamed the place down and tried to get everyone out of the house. There had been no fire. The second time he’d been a teenager and one joint down in his high school’s boiler room. The classmates he’d been with had already started heading out to get the bus home, but Dean had stayed to tidy up after them, the basement had grown icy and he’d seen someone—a man—slumped against the brick work beside him, a pool of blood beneath. He’d yelled for help, but no one had heard him from all the way down there. And then the figure was gone. Dean had sworn off pot after that.

But now as Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket and got into his car and checked his cell phone for new messages, sweat making his t-shirt stick to his back, Dean was thinking maybe it hadn’t been the pot. And maybe, just maybe what had happened when he was four wasn’t just some nightmare. Or all the other times things had been strange. Nerves tingling with unspent adrenaline, Dean put his hands up on his steering wheel and worked on his breathing.

After some unknown amount of time that likely would have covered the length of an actual viewing of the apartment, Dean turned on his cell’s screen. He went looking for the ad he thought he’d been responding to. Dean tried several rental sites, but nothing came up. No worry—he had screen shots of the listing. Bringing that up from his gallery app, he looked at the pictures, saw that the price had been incredibly low for the kind of place it was. But then he looked closer at the outside shots and something stirred in his memory.

Switching to his browser, he searched for news around the street he was on. It took some unique terms, but he eventually found an old newspaper archive that talked of an accident that had happened when it had been a warehouse and not an apartment complex. It was over a century ago, when Sioux Falls was still growing, and the railroad first came to the city. An accident involving a volatile substance of some description. Checking a local history website, Dean still couldn’t find out what exactly, but he confirmed that two people died in the accident. _Still didn’t explain the cheap rate, unless the owner of the apartment knew they’d have issues shifting it_ , Dean theorized.

Dean stowed his cell and took a deep breath as he started the Impala and put it in drive. Pulling out, Dean declared to himself, “Ghosts, they’re not real. Hell, nothing like that is real. Nope. No Casper. Nope. Nope.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Dude, you okay?” Sam’s called from the other side of Dean’s bedroom door. Soon to be Eileen’s studio.

Dean was laid out on his black bed covers, _Dark Side of the Moon_ by Pink Floyd side two all played through and he hadn’t gotten up to change the LP to another album or to flip it back to side one. He’d been there for over an hour, boots off, staring up at the white ceiling.

Evening was upon them and all Dean could do was think of each and every weird little thing he’d encountered over the years. Books moving around shelves at Cassie’s old place was one. His book collection on the shelf below Cassie’s had not been her sort of thing, but the books would somehow, when Dean wasn’t looking, manage to move themselves around. Falling off the shelves or being stacked up in weird ways on the shelves rather than having their spines facing out—and Cassie and Dean had been the only ones living in that house. They hadn’t tended to have friends over, preferring to go out.

There were other times when stuff had moved around weirdly or the temperature had suddenly dropped. So many to count over the years—Dean had put it all down to weird microclimates and enthusiastic maids. But as he laid on his bed, on top of the black sheets, he was starting to think that something more had been going on. And that was just stuff he suspected may have been… ghosts.

“Dean?”

Lurching upwards, Dean sat on the edge of his bed and moved to his record player. He set the needle and arm to its rest position and turned it off. He walked over to his door and opened it.

“Hey,” Dean said quietly.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re as pale as a ghost, Dean!”

And how Sam, looking rumpled in his shirt and slacks after work, could just be on point but just remarking about Dean’s apparent paleness—Dean didn’t know, but he cringed inwardly. “Yeah. I uh… um… think I might be coming down with something?” Because no way in hell was he about to tell Sam that he thought he’d encountered a ghost that afternoon.

Unasked, Sam pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, which was surprisingly warm. “Uh, you’re clammy, that’s for sure. I’ll make some soup for dinner. Head back to bed and I’ll get you some Tylenol, okay?”

Dean nodded dumbly, their sibling roles reversed, and did as he was told. Minutes later, Sam reappeared with a tray loaded with a glass of water, some Tylenol and a fresh cup of the lemon and ginger tea he would always buy dry from the local farmer’s market that Dean secretly liked, but would never admit to liking.

“Thanks,” Dean said as the tray was set down on his bedside table. He sat with his back against the headboard and took the Tylenol. The cold water felt good against his throat.

“When’d you start feeling ill?” Sam asked.

And Dean knew he wasn’t ill, just feeling ragged after what had happened at the apartment. “Oh, uh, after looking at an apartment. After my shift.”

Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, face a picture of concern. “Do you think something at the apartment might have set you off? Gas or something?”

Dean shook his head. “I dunno. But suffice to say, I ain’t going to rent there.”

Sam nodded. “What was the place like?”

“Converted warehouse,” Dean said. “It was old.”

“Hmm, could have some kind of contamination. I’ll check-”

“Sam, leave it. I’ll be fine. No need to do anything, okay?”

“Well, I have to at least make you some soup.” Sam smiled and got off the bed. “Try to rest, okay? And drink some tea.” He headed on out and left Dean to his thoughts.

Dean didn’t feel that much like resting, so he picked up his cell and started looking for rental listings that were less likely to be haunted. But ten minutes in, his head started to hurt and he put his cell back down on the bedside table and picked up his tea instead.

“Mmm, good,” Dean murmured and sipped it slowly, blowing on it between sips. He decided that thinking was just a poor use of his time and decided to stop doing it and just try to relax.

***

“Yeah, I’m fine Sammy-”

“My name’s Sam, not Sammy!”

“Uh-huh, well I’m heading to the shop,” Dean called over to his shoulder as he opened the front door. “I’m fine. See you this evening.”

Dean was out and heading across the front yard before Sam could say anything else. He really did feel better. Whatever the previous afternoon had been, it didn’t seem to have permanently affected Dean, though he didn’t want to dwell on what he had experienced back there. Instead he got in the Impala, slotted in a Metallica cassette of _Master of Puppets_ and drove downtown, ready to kick Wednesday in the ass.

Wednesday at The Bunker started much like it had earlier in the week, though Charlie didn’t stop by. Once the early morning rush had quietened down, Garth cornered Dean while he shifted the discs of used grounds that had built up in a tray beside the espresso machine.

“So, how’d the tour go?” Garth asked as he set out clean mugs and cups beside the machine.

Dean thumped the grounds into an empty bean bag, ready to package up once full and set aside for customers to take home for their yards. “The tour? Uh, right. Yeah, not my kind of place. It was more pricey than I’d been expecting. And up too many stairs.”

“Too many stairs?” Garth balked. “Dean, you can bench press more than I can. And it had too many stairs?!”

Dean turned to face Garth, empty tray in hand. “Well, there was no way anyone was getting up them in one piece after a good night out.” Dean waggled his eyebrows.

Garth inhaled deeply through his nose and then rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine.” He changed the topic of conversation. “You okay running things over the weekend with Aaron?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean asked, setting the tray down.

Garth exhaled and gave Dean a grateful smile. “That’s what I thought. Just wanted to be sure, Dean.”

“And whenever have I said no?” Dean pointed out. He picked up a cleaning cloth and wiped down around the espresso machine.

“Okay, okay. But thank you.” Garth finished setting out clean mugs and cups.

“No worries, Garth.” Dean didn’t look up now, wondering why Garth always had to make such a big deal out of Dean covering him. It wasn’t as if Dean was inexperienced in taking on The Bunker by himself. The previous winter, there’d been a whole week where Garth was ill with the flu or something and Dean had been left in charge. He’d managed to not only serve customers and keep the rest of their team motivated, he’d managed to sort out orders from their suppliers as well. But Garth’s absences once a month, over three days, and always weekends, made perfect sense to Dean.

Garth clearly had a girlfriend (or boyfriend) he wasn’t telling anyone about, which was fine. Garth tended to be very private about his personal life, and Dean suspected he was dating someone with very changeable shift patterns, like a doctor, nurse or fire officer, someone like that. Or maybe someone who worked in a local restaurant. Or had kids and unreliable childcare—any number of dating possibilities that meant Garth might need to shift when he took time off from the shop.

Dean wasn’t exactly going to give Garth the third degree over it. He was the assistant manager of The Bunker—if he couldn’t competently cover for Garth, then what was the point? Perhaps a part of Dean was slightly insulted that Garth always checked in before his calendar highlighted times off happened. _Maybe he just wants to make sure he’s not taking advantage of me? Ever think about that, Winchester?_ Dean thought as they started gearing up for the mid-morning wave of customers. Usually stay at home parents with little ones needing to get out of the house.

Just before the next rush, Garth let Dean take a break and Dean treated himself to a homemade granola bar as he looked through listings for another place to rent. He swiped through listings on this phone, mostly being put off by the price of anywhere that was meant for just one person. He felt a little too old to be room sharing outside of family, but after swiping down twenty different listings, Dean decided to look at places looking for rent shares or roommates.

“Hey, Dean, Mrs Henderson’s here!” Garth called from the front to the backroom and kitchen.

Dean called out an “okay” and stowed his cell away. He washed his hands and headed back out to help. Mrs Henderson was a regular customer whose autistic son Thomas would only sit quietly and calmly at The Bunker if Dean joined them. He picked up the drinks and cake that Garth had already arranged for them on a tray—an apple juice box for Thomas, large black coffee for Mrs Henderson, and a glass of water for Dean, plus chocolate brownies for Thomas and his mom—and headed on over to their usual corner spot.

“Hey there, Janet. Hey Thomas,” Dean greeted as he set the tray down. Thomas was seated beside the window, a toy train he was obsessed with making trails over their table. Once the tray was down, the train started to do laps around the tray.

“Hello, Dean,” Mrs Henderson returned, setting the juice box in front of Thomas. “Say hello to Dean, Thomas.”

“Hello,” Thomas greeted, eyes still on his train.

Dean could imagine that almost any other coffee shop out there wouldn’t want their staff to spend their time with their customers like this. But Garth ran a different ship. He genuinely believed in making The Bunker welcome to all, so that anyone could find a respite from their life, feel safe and recenter themselves enough so that they could go on to face whatever it was they had to deal with beyond The Bunker’s front door. And if they didn’t feel like coming in, that was fine too. Anyone who stopped by and wanted a drink, but didn’t want to commit to coming inside, or couldn’t afford to buy a drink or something to eat? Garth or Dean would serve them outside or use a pay-it-forward stub to cover the cost of the drink.

And if being welcome to all meant that Dean spent fifteen minutes a week sitting with Thomas and his mom—so be it. Dean sipped his water as Mrs Henderson cut Thomas’s brownie into equal chunks. Once that had been done, she pushed the plate to Thomas and, without looking up from his train and with a brief pause, Thomas said “thank you” and took his first bite. Dean met Mrs Henderson’s eyes and smiled.

“Any news on the house?” Dean asked after a sip of water.

“The realtor thinks we should be able to close this week. I’m pretty confident we can.” Mrs Henderson stirred sugar into her coffee. “I know it’s going to be tough moving there, and Thomas will take some time getting used to it. But it has the space he needs and it’s quieter. And the last time we checked it out, Thomas seemed to like the house.”

“That’s good.” Dean nodded.

“Right? I mean, he sat down and started playing, so I’m going to take that as a win.”

The two of them continued to chat, Thomas nibbling on his brownie and sipping juice as the train continued to circle around the tray and table. It was awkward, but a million miles better than the first time Thomas had come into the shop, which had found him freaking out until Dean started talking to him. Slowly, Dean had helped him out of his freak out and settled him at the table they were now sat at, plying him with juice and a brownie as Mrs Henderson apologized over and over.

Dean liked Thomas and Mrs Henderson—he’d only met Thomas’s father once—but their brief time together always stirred a little something inside Dean. Regret and sadness mostly—regret that his ex, Lisa, had not only pushed Dean away from her, but also away from her son Ben, who Dean had gotten along with well. Over the past year, Dean had wasted a lot of time trying to figure out what had gone wrong. While he still wasn’t sure, Dean had a feeling. His instinct told him it was to do with how he had never been able to live up to Lisa’s needs—someone who could be there, mind, body and soul, twenty-four-seven. But Dean couldn’t do that, not in his old job when one callout had gone terribly wrong.

Being a firefighter wasn’t exactly easy when you didn’t manage to save the day. It certainly wasn’t easier when you may or may not have been seeing the spirits of the recently departed being taken away by strange spectral beings.

***

“Nope,” Dean said dejectedly as he backed out of a rental listing he’d been viewing. The place sounded like it wanted sex in lieu of rent. He looked for a report button, found it and was pleasantly surprised to find an option to report the listing as something like that. He hoped no one got taken in by the advertiser before the ad was dealt with.

He swiped down the listings page on his tablet, looking for something that met his criteria. It wasn’t like he was being too picky, but cost and distance was an issue. He could drive, but he didn’t exactly enjoy sitting in traffic. _No ghosts would be a bonus_ , Dean thought to himself and then shook away the memories of the other day.

The lock in the front door turned and Dean set the tablet aside as he waited for Sam to find him in the living room. It was past nine, Dean had eaten hours ago and had left Sam’s food in the oven, ready to be heated up.

“Sorry,” Sam said, poking his head into the living room. “The shit hit the fan with one of our clients and I had to scramble some papers together.” He sniffed. “Is that lasagna?”

Dean looked up at Sam, head going slightly upside down over the back of the couch. “Yes it is. Want me to heat it up?”

“Please! I’ll go change.” Sam hurried away and headed upstairs.

Getting off the couch, Dean took his tablet and went to the stove. Turning the oven on to a low temperature, he expected the lasagna to be just right after about twenty minutes. He sat down at their breakfast bar and returned to looking through listings.

“Roommate must be able to geek out about the show Paranormal!” Dean muttered to himself. “What the hell kind of show is that?!” Dean then moved into a new tab and hit up search. After ten minutes he was suddenly wondering if maybe the show was available on Netflix or something, because it sounded pretty cool. Shifting back to his apartment listings, he scrolled some more, mood deflating with each one he read until one in particular caught his eye:

===

**$0/mth 9+ bd | 9+ ba | 30,000 sqft**

Room for rent

Days listed: 1 | Contact: 1 | Applications: 0

Hello. I am looking for a roommate to live in my home with me. It is a former hotel and you would have one of the penthouse suites as your room, with access to the wider hotel and communal spaces. Yes, the rent is free in terms of monetary payment from you. See, my toenails have reached such an extraordinary length that it is physically impossible for me to walk now. This is where you come in: I need you, the applicant, to trim my toenails for me. And I know what you’re thinking: “Oh, that’s not that bad,” but I can assure you—it IS that bad. Using standard nail clippers on these babies will not suffice. You will need to use scissors—maybe even garden shears on them. Adequately doing so will equate to three months worth of rent. After which my toenails will have grown back to their current length, and you can trim them again for another three months of rent. They are going to keep growing. There is nothing I can do to stop it anymore. I have accepted defeat.

===

Dean sat on his stool, mouth hanging open, eyes unable to shift away from the text. He had never read anything so bizarre, so _out there_ in a rental listing before. He wasn’t sure if it was a prank—it was a good one if it was. But there was something about the tone, the way the lister had described their desperate situation that made Dean suspect that this was a genuine ad. A bizarre one—yes—but real. And it still sounded a million times better than what he had experienced the previous day at that apartment. Sure it was a little weird having a big ol’ hotel to yourself, but if the place was clean and Dean could handle cutting those toenails, it had to be worth a shot. Especially with free rent—if he saved the money he would have spent on rent, there were so many things that Dean knew he’d be able to provide. Whether to himself or for those around him.

_Just need to find out if they’re a complete and utter creep_. Dean navigated to the contact button and touched it.


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday started much the same as Wednesday, only with the addition of it being a day Charlie was able to grace The Bunker with her presence. Once she was set up, Dean brought over a double espresso—apparently it was a serious morning—and he was about to leave her to whatever work she already had her nose buried in, the top of her head only just visible above the lid of her laptop, when she reached out and grabbed Dean by the wrist.

“Hold it,” she said firmly, tearing her eyes away from the screen. “How’d the apartment viewing go?”

Dean looked around. There weren’t any more customers yet and he was ahead of his morning opening chores. Plopping himself down on the empty chair at the table, Dean grimaced and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Charlie was the only other person, bar Dean, who knew that Dean sometimes “saw” or “felt” things that no one else did. It was kind of hard for her not to know, after the one time she’d invited Dean and Sam along to a Moondoor Live Action Replay (LARP) weekend she was taking part in and hosting. The lake near the event had a tragic past and Dean had seen an echo of it.

Charlie had caught him in the process of freaking out and had spent a moment feeling the non-seasonal icy chill that had gone down Dean’s spine. She hadn’t seen the man on the edge of the dock sinking to the watery depths below, but she had felt it. There was always something about Charlie, for as long as Dean had known her, that made him feel like he could talk to her about the truth and not be judged. So, he’d told her what he’d seen and felt. It wasn’t something that came up very often, that Dean saw and felt such things, but with her asking about the listing, Dean decided that maybe he could say something.

“Well?” Charlie prompted again.

“The place was haunted.” Dean gave an uneasy laugh. “Like, the place felt like it was crawling all over my skin and something horrible was going to happen, levels of haunted. There wasn’t even anyone there when I went inside.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “How’d you get in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has it… y’know, happened while you’ve been out looking for a home before?”

“No.” Dean scrubbed at his face again.

“Hopefully it’s just a one off, right?”

“Hopefully.”

Charlie tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “So, have you scoped anywhere else out?”

Dean pulled out his cell and went to where he’d bookmarked the hotel-toenail listing. “Yeah,” he said, passing his cell over to Charlie, “this place.”

Charlie started to read and as she did her eyes slowly opened wider. “No rent if you cut their toenails?! What the frell?!”

“Seems like a good deal.”

“Toenails, Dean. Toenails!” Charlie passed Dean’s cell back. “What if they have a fungal infection? And how does anyone’s toenails grow that much, that fast?! They just don’t, Dean. They just don’t.”

Dean stowed his cell and shrugged. “I’m still going to check it out.” He stood up and stretched. Through the store’s front windows he could see the first real wave of customers arriving. “Welp. Back to the grindstone.”

Charlie didn’t bring the listing up again while she worked at The Bunker for a few hours. But as she was leaving and Dean was coming off his break she did tell him to “be safe”, and text him when the viewing was done. She may have also told Dean to talk with Sam about things, but he was going to ignore that part, because he knew Sam would just freak out at this particular opportunity.

Dean was surprising himself by not freaking out. Unusual toenails just seemed easy after Tuesday’s ghostly encounter.

***

“Dean, you cannot be serious!” Sam howled down the phone. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to him. He suspected Charlie must have said something to Sam since that morning, but Dean didn’t feel that betrayed. It wasn’t like Sam could stop him, and if he hadn’t wanted him out of the house so soon, Dean wouldn’t have even considered it.

Dean tried to remember when his _younger_ brother got so bossy, and estimated it was somewhere between the first time Sam kissed a girl and making captain of his high school soccer team. Thinking more on it while Sam continued to panic on Dean’s behalf, Dean couldn’t decide if in fact there was a degree of causality there and that, in fact, Sam became bossy, which helped him become soccer team captain, which then helped him to kiss his girl, because “popularity” of some kind had happened.

Dean’s high school experience, where he’d blazed a path for Sam before graduating (which Sam had distinctly not followed), had not only involved the odd joint on school grounds, but taking drama and subsequently getting a leading role for each major production. Wasn’t Dean’s fault if their old drama teacher had little to work with—few guys joined the club—and everyone saw how most of the straight girls in the class acted better when they were around Dean. As if it was some kind of audition to be his girlfriend, which it kind of felt like it was a lot of the time. And then the Fall of _You Can’t Take It with You_ came and Dean had had some lovely rehearsing sessions with a transfer student who liked to run his lines with Dean. Not that anyone in Dean’s family or the wider school knew this. And Charlie only knew it, because, well, Dean felt safe talking to her about that sort of thing.

“Dean, are you even listening?” Sam grumped down the line.

“Don’t get devoured by cannibals, don’t accept any food or drink, check reflections in mirrors. Got it. Anything else?” Dean joked.

The roll of Sam’s eyes was practically audible. “Right. Just text me when you’re leaving, okay?”

“Okay, mom.”

“Just do it.”

“Fine.” Dean sighed. “I’ll text you once I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

Dean ended the call and looked from his car window to the gated wall that lined the sidewalk. The brick work was covered in smooth render painted a pale coffee color. Trees were visible on the other side of the wall, some cottonwoods and elms, shading the sidewalk from the afternoon sun. The black gates set into the wall were made in curling iron, flourishes of vines and flowers worked in with the curved bars of the gate. He couldn’t see the hotel beyond the wall, but Dean was wondering how he’d never seen this place before. It contrasted with the Sioux Fall streets around it like a rose among thorns.

Taking his keys, Dean got out of the Impala and locked her up. Heading over to the sidewalk, he could finally see between the gates. A stony, shingle path laid beyond the massive gates and there beyond it was a hotel that looked like it was designed and built in the 1920’s. Its clean lines and shallow columns with scallop like details molded on, unmistakable on the pale mint green building.

“Here goes nothing,” Dean said to himself. He opened the gate, which was left unlocked, and wondered how he had just not spotted this place before. And that made him all the more interested in checking it out.

Dean waltzed along the stone path to the old hotel and made his way up a small, wide stone staircase to what he guessed was the front entrance. He looked around and spotted an old circular fountain that looked like it had seen better days. It was set into the garden some ways back, and looked like it hadn’t known water in more than a few decades. Lichen and moss grew over the gray stones and what visible metal work there was looked thoroughly oxidized.

Turning his attention back to the front entrance, two towering doors set into the front of the hotel, with more pillar-like details, he knocked on the door.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Dean watched in trepidation as the doors opened inwards. Through them, he could see a grand front foyer with pristine white tiles intersected by small black tiles turned to look like diamonds. High backed swooping cream lounge chairs were arranged in discrete groupings and a long chandelier hung from an elaborate ceiling fixture done in plaster, painted in black and with a series of diamond outlines, all just visible in the vastness of air above him. The walls were stylishly off-white, broken up by faux cuboid pillars with black detail. Dean wondered if he’d just walked into a shoot of an adaptation of _The Great Gatsby_ , such was the luxury and attention to detail that surrounded him in the space. He walked towards what he assumed was a front desk—a mixture of black lacquered wood and pale off-white panels.

But just as he was wondering if he’d walked into yet another ghostly encounter, an unfamiliar man’s voice called, “In here.”

Dean turned to the source of the voice and faced a pair of open black lacquered, glass fronted doors, and headed in what appeared to be a sunroom of sorts. There was a cacophony of plants in the room, making the sunroom seem part jungle in some corners, all planted in varying types of ceramic and terracotta pots. He couldn’t see who had spoken to him and then looked towards a pair of open French doors and a man sat in a tall backed rattan chair, the dried strands again stained black. His back was to Dean, but Dean could see a tuft of messy black hair, and a vibrant crocheted blanket trailing from the man’s lap for over five foot from the chair.

“Come closer, I won’t bite,” the man said, his gravelly voice making Dean’s skin tingle.

With some trepidation, Dean walked up to the man and came to stand in front of him, at the edge of the blanket with his foot between them.

“Hi, I’m Dean. I responded to your ad?” Dean said as he felt it possible to draw his eyes away from the man in front of him. Aside from the blanket, which aged him, the man in front of him looked to be at the peak of health. Dazzling blue eyes and brilliant teeth, a stubbled jaw that was giving Dean all kinds of thoughts, and shoulders that looked ready to pop from the white t-shirt the man was wearing.

He looked nothing like a guy who had freakishly long toe nails that needed such high level trimming as to warrant free rent. He looked like a handsome man sitting in a sunroom.

“Yes. I’m Castiel. Thank you for coming. You are the only person who’s so far responded to my listing.” Castiel nodded solemnly. “Of course, I want you to understand the gravity of my situation and offer, before you have a look around.”

Castiel whipped the blanket away from his legs and threw it down beside the chair. Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at ten impossibly long toenails, all white and, after a foot from Castiel’s toes, curling elaborately this way and that, in ways that Dean didn’t even know were possible for nails to grow.

“As you can see, the growth is quite… extensive,” Castiel said, shifting uncomfortably under Dean’s gaze. The baggy green cargo shorts he wore cinching a little with the movement.

“And you say they get this long every three months?” Dean asked, voice a note higher than usual.

“Yes. It’s no gradual thing either. More… something that happens nearly overnight.”

_This is not normal. Nope_. Dean gave Castiel a concerned smile. _At least he doesn’t seem to be a ghost. Doesn’t feel cold in here, like at all._ “Is that so?”

“Yes… and I’m sure you’re wondering why I don’t hire a podiatrist when it gets this bad? And let me tell you, I’ve tried. But some either charge a fortune or wish to… involve me in quite invasive features. And it’s just not tenable for me to put myself into such care.” Castiel sighed. “You see?”

Glancing back down to the impossible nails, Dean could understand that maybe the medical profession might take advantage of Castiel’s situation or decide to treat him like some kind of freak. He met Castiel’s eyes again and there was a sincere look there, begging for Dean to help.

“I suppose when they suddenly get this long, you can’t exactly drive yourself anywhere,” Dean offered.

“Drive? What, oh, yes. It’s impossible. Walking is also incredibly difficult. But if I’m also being honest here… I can’t actually leave the hotel and its grounds.” Castiel looked away, cheeks coloring. “It’s quite embarrassing really. I, uh, can’t, you see.”

It wasn’t Dean’s place to probe why the guy couldn’t leave, there was no GPS tracking anklet in sight. Instead he took a tentative step closer and said, “Hey, how about I check the place out and then we can discuss whether you want me as a tenant? Huh? How’s that sound?”

Castiel met his eyes again and gave him a grateful look. “Yes, of course. I suggest you avoid the east wing, it’s currently being renovated and, uh, isn’t up to… code.”

Dean raised an eyebrow briefly at that, but nodded in agreement. “Sure, of course. See you in a while.”

Before the situation could get any more awkward, Dean strode off back to the main foyer and proceeded to the main desk to get his bearings. There were dual sweeping staircases that swept around the desk area on either side, carrying on up to the next floor and the floor above that. He looked to his right from the desk, and saw an immense pair of double doors that had a construction warning sign stuck to the wood there and all kinds of bright hazard tape.

“East wing,” Dean observed and then turned to his left. “This way it is.” He marched off, determined to give the place a thorough examination. He probably should have been freaking out like he had the other day, but there was something about Castiel’s sincerity and bizarre situation that made Dean feel for the guy’s plight. Heading through a pair of tall doors like the east wing’s, Dean found himself inside a grand ballroom-come-dining hall.

He had no idea when last a ball had been hosted in the space—after all, he didn’t even know the name of the hotel, let alone that it had existed—but he imagined glittering events filled with people who perhaps had more money than sense. There was an air about the building that it was old, genuine art deco and not some weird modern recreation. Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on how he knew this, but he’d worked a couple of construction jobs before firefighting and one had been a hotel from a similar era, but a completely different design.

Leaving the huge space behind, Dean found himself in a bar and lounge area that looked like it was waiting for a jazz band to descend and then somehow wound his way into the kitchens. The kitchens were immense, with gleaming steel worktops and enough utensils to get just about any kitchen job imaginable done. Towards the back, something glinted as he approached and he came to a stop beside a counter that was loaded up with an espresso machine that looked to be original Italian, 1920’s build with a huge lever jutting out of one side. It was an antique and near enough mint condition, with some signs in a waste tray that it was still regularly used. A modern bean grinder, not unlike the one from The Bunker, stood beside it. The coffee machine alone was nearly enough to convince Dean that he should come to live at this weird ass place with its handsome owner. _Hold up there. Let’s see what else is going on here_ , he schooled himself.

Dean found a staff staircase and headed on upstairs. Making his way onto the second floor, he came out on a hallway that had lower ceilings than the first floor, but were still quite high. Small chandeliers hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, brightening the off white walls and the black detailing. Doors lined the corridor, with large spaces between them, indicating large, spacious rooms. Dean wondered why so much of the building was kept like a hotel if it wasn’t really being used as a hotel anymore.

Trying a door, Dean found it opened easily to him and so he peeked his head inside the room. It was beautifully furnished with a dark wood bed that had pillars on all corners and a sweeping cream canopy above. A chaise lounge dominated one part of the room and the dressers and vanity looked like they would be thousands at auction. Dean stepped back and closed the door. He tried a few more rooms on the second floor and found them similarly decorated. He slowly made his way to the central sweeping staircase and climbed to the next floor.

Here, the rooms were even bigger and even more elegantly fitted, if that was at all possible. Then he found one room that was completely empty and Dean found himself walking inside. The bathroom was ensuite, the ceilings high and no chandelier dominated the space. He went to the room’s windows and looked out. The room was on the same side of the hotel as the old fountain and the pathway he’d walked along. A feeling told Dean that this would probably be his room, if he came to live at Castiel’s stunning hotel and took over care of the man’s feet. The space was bigger than most apartments, with several connected rooms together to form an entire suite. Dean had never had so much space to himself before. Reassuringly, there was a fire suppression system present, which made the former firefighter in Dean glad.

And Dean hadn’t felt a single ghostly presence in the hotel, which was unusual for a building that old. He left the room and headed back downstairs and to the sunroom Castiel was in.

“Well?” Castiel asked as he fidgeted with a brown paper envelope on his lap, sitting in the same spot Dean had left him. The blanket was covering his legs and nails again.

“It’s an amazing place you have here, Cas,” Dean said, the nickname slipping out unbidden.

Castiel gave his first real smile. “Oh?”

“Yeah. That an original Gaggia espresso machine in the kitchens?”

“It is.”

“And… I found a room on the third floor that was empty, overlooking the fountain outside. Would that be my room?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, yes it would be.”

“Does this place have a name?”

Castiel gently bit his lips and relaxed. “The Ddraig.”

“The Ddraig, huh?” Dean rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. “Well, if you’ll have me—can I call you Cas?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Cas, if you’ll have me, I’d be happy to be the newest tenant of The Ddraig.”

“Here,” Cas said, handing the brown envelope to Dean, “is a contract. I suggest you read this over carefully. Call me when you have and let me know for sure that you wish to live here.”

“Right, of course.”

“Do you have any further questions before you leave?” Cas prompted.

“Uh, yeah. Does this place still operate as a hotel?” Dean asked, thinking of the rooms he had seen.

Cas looked away for a second and then back to Dean. “For part of the year. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, I don’t think so… Is Wi-Fi included?”

“Of course.”

“Can I use the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“The Gaggia?”

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes,” he eventually replied.

“What about laundry?” Dean hefted the envelope in his hand.

“There’s a laundry room that will be available for your use. It is the hotel’s own room, but I have some more, uh, standard sized machines for domestic use.”

“Right. Oh, am I allowed people over?”

“As per the contract, yes you are.”

“Fantastic.”

“Good. And Dean, be _sure_ before you agree to live here, hm? I truly wouldn’t want you to regret moving here.”

“Of course… Okay, well I better be going.”

Cas held out his right hand and Dean took it in his, carefully leaning over the side of the chair. They shook and then Dean headed on out, concerned slightly with how Cas might get around once he was gone.

Reaching the Impala, Dean felt as if a veil had been lifted off of his eyes. The street outside and the people going about their day seemed more real and present than Dean had experienced before. He didn’t know what to make of that feeling and for a moment he thought that the afternoon had been a hallucination and then he focused on the weight of the envelope in his hand and he realized it really had all been real. Toenails and all.


	4. Chapter 4

“Wait, what?” Sam asked as he stopped beside the breakfast bar, beer in hand. It was Thursday evening, burger night, the pans from Dean’s homemade burger and fries ensemble were waiting to be rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher.

“Look, it says right here, I get all that, so long as I cut his toenails every few months. I just need to buy my own food and cook it. I have to keep my own room clean and tidy, I even get a free parking spot, but figure it’s a pretty sweet deal overall.”

_It’s a sweeter deal than here_ , Dean thought, reflecting on the size of the rooms he would have available to himself.

“Give me that.” Sam put his beer down and leaned over Dean, snatching up the lease Cas had given Dean to take home. Dean watched Sam’s face as he read through the ten pages that Cas had given Dean and Dean couldn’t help smirk at the consternation on Sam’s face, the deeper he got into the lease. Every page just seemed to make Sam’s mouth twist and skin go just a shade paler.

“I don’t believe it,” he said after ten minutes of reading. He set the papers down and took a swig of beer. “There’s no way anyone would draw up a lease that is that good for a tenant. No way.”

“Castiel did.” Dean finished his beer off and got off the stool he’d been perched on.

“And what kind of name is Castiel Novak? Well, okay just Castiel? Sounds like some kind of angel,” Sam huffed. “Plus, why does he need you to cut his toenails?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t think he can leave the hotel. I think he might be agoraphobic, y’know? Plus, he’s had problems with professionals in the past, or that’s what it sounded like.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Look, lemme check in with my contact down at the police department. I didn’t even know there was a hotel there in that part of town.” Sam finished his beer and then turned to the dirty dishes that needed to be sorted. Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, though he was secretly glad that Sam wanted him to be safe when he moved. It wasn’t like Dean had been in a good head space when he’d moved in just over a year prior, or the year before that when he’d lived on his own.

The break up with Lisa had been painful, but it was the work incident before that had left him raw and nearly broken. A call gone wrong every which way it could, during a night shift. Big family home. Arson. The family trapped inside. Two colleagues lost. Dean didn’t come back from that call. He’d be reliving it in his nightmares and waking hours for as long as he still drew breath—but Sam, therapy and the friends he’d made while working at The Bunker? They all helped to keep things under control. He’d found some balance, a center around which he could live and heal.

When Dean had needed help, Sam had come for him in Michigan and brought him all the way home to Sioux Falls. Driving a rental there and driving the Impala back with his few things. But a year was a long time, and Dean knew Sam had likely found “the one”—what Sam and Eileen had was something he didn’t want to get in the way of, in spite of the envy that was starting to creep up on him. But whether he moved to The Ddraig hotel or somewhere else, it was going to be a change. And Dean wasn’t historically great with change, though there was no way he’d move back to Lawrence, Kansas to live with their parents again. _No damn way_ , Dean thought as he thumbed the pages of the lease.

“I’ll bet your guy in the department won’t find anything out about the hotel or Castiel,” Dean said.

Sam smirked. “You’re on.”

“Okay, the wager: if there’s nothing going on, you have to pick out Mom and Dad’s Christmas presents this year,” Dean offered.

“Alright, and if I win, you’re going to have to help with the turkey this year,” Sam countered.

“You’re on.”

***

“You get all that?” Charlie near-shrieked to the half-empty coffee shop.

“Yes,” Dean repeated. He’d been at work an hour that Friday morning and had already dealt with two dozen orders from people who didn’t have “thank god, it’s Friday” as a mantra.

“I don’t believe it… and you just have to cut his nails? This makes like no sense in our capitalist world. None whatsoever. And his toenails make no sense in human biology at all. I hope you realize that. No human would have toenails like that.”

“Well, he looked pretty human to me. I think I’m going to sign.”

Charlie closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. She cradled her latte between her hands. “At least wait until Sam’s found out if there’s any history with this guy or that place, huh?”

Dean nodded. “Sure.”

“But… if you do move in, maybe Castiel will let you host huge LARP sessions there?”

Dean gave Charlie a long, hard stare. “Seriously?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like the castle that gets used for things like LARP for _The Witcher_ , which would also be awesome for Moodoor, but a place like that with huge grounds? And art deco decor? Maybe we could run like _Call of Cthulhu_ LARP?”

Dean didn’t say no as he got up to get back to work, but he wondered if Cas would be okay with something like that. He knew Charlie would sell tickets and stuff. There’d be money to go back to Cas. Though as Dean thought about cutting those wicked toenails of Castiel’s, Dean wondered what else the guy did for money. The Ddraig hotel was in good enough shape, bar the east wing. _How does he make enough money from running it as a hotel for part of the year?_ Dean pondered as he started getting a to-go order sorted.

For much of his shift, he just speculated as to what Castiel’s deal really was. From how Cas made a living to whether a genetic condition was behind the nails—it had to be after all, right? To grow so freakishly long almost over night. Then Dean found himself worrying over what Sam’s friend would dig up on Cas and the hotel, that it all really was too good to be real and safe at just that moment in his life when he needed it to be real. Maybe Cas was wanted two states over? A known troublemaker? People had disappeared at the hotel? Visions of The Overlook from _The Shining_ floated through Dean’s overactive mind and he put down the cup of coffee he’d been about to drink. _There’s probably nothing wrong, the guy’s probably just eccentric with a side of genetic quirkiness—nothing to worry about._

By the time Dean was done for the day, leaving Aaron in charge of The Bunker (as Garth had gone off to his weekend thing), and heading back to Sam’s place, Dean was convinced that luck couldn’t deal him a haunting and an ax murderer in the same week. It just didn’t make sense for Cas to be anything but eccentric, and cute if Dean allowed himself to think about the searching blue eyes, crazy hair and strong jaw that Cas was gifted with. Cheeks warming a little, Dean got in the Impala and drove on home, refusing to think on what information may have been uncovered. Instead, he thought about whether they should order in pizza and how many beers were in the fridge—not that he could indulge too much. He would be opening up The Bunker tomorrow morning.

Sam was already home, which was a surprise when Dean parked up outside the house. He headed on in, and was greeted by a brief mumble from somewhere on the living room couch.

“Say that again?” Dean asked.

Sam removed a highlighter from between his teeth and said, “Afternoon.”

“Yeah, afternoon… what are you doing home so early?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s Friday and it was just too loud back in the office. Someone on floor five was making a meal out of the start of their bachelor weekend and trying to get everyone involved. Did not want a part of that.”

“Noted.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just, noting that workplace bachelor party shenanigans are not something you’re into. Need to be on top of stuff like that for when you eventually ask Eileen.”

Sam’s face went briefly pale and then he recovered himself. Clearing his throat he said, “Right,” and ducked his face back into whatever photocopies he was busy highlighting the heck out of. Dean chuckled and headed into the kitchen, pronouncements on Castiel’s suitability paused for the time being.

***

Feet on his pillows, head at the foot of the bed, Dean flipped through the latest issue of one of the few trade journals he subscribed to. Printed on thick pages and with a lot of hipster aesthetic inside, Dean couldn’t have pictured himself reading something like it ten years ago, but working at a place like The Bunker had given Dean a new appreciation of the artistry of coffee and the communities around it. From bean to cup, Dean found the whole thing fascinating and had been working on his latte art since he’d started in his job. The latest issue of _Standart_ had a piece on neurodivergent coffee professionals, which was eye opening, and was giving Dean ideas about the next time they needed to hire for The Bunker or decided to expand into a second franchise.

It wasn’t a typical Friday night, Dean got that, but he liked to keep things quiet when Garth was away. There was a cooling slice of pizza on a paper plate beside him and a bottle of beer on the floor. Sam was still working away downstairs and Dean was considering an intervention of sorts. It was gone seven and Dean couldn’t see how working so late on a Friday was good for Sam, no matter how much he wanted to make partner before he was 35. Setting the journal down, a scrap of paper marking his place, Dean started to lift himself up when Sam loudly rapped at his door.

Slumping back down against the mattress, Dean called through the door, “What is it?”

“You decent?” Sam called back.

Dean rolled his eyes. He was in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “Yes!”

Sam pushed the bedroom door open, laptop cradled open in his arm. “So, get this… Can’t find any outstanding warrants for Castiel, or pretty much anything. The hotel has been there since the 1920’s! But there’s little on file about it. It’s like it disappeared, but obviously not. About the only things of note is an unexplained death some time in the 1980’s, some poor kid, but it was never treated as foul play. The reports? Less detail than usual. But my guy doesn’t think it’s really anything to worry about,” Sam finished, breathing hard.

Dean tried to go over everything that Sam had just said. “So, a whole lot of nothing?”

“Bar the blip from thirty years ago, yeah.” Sam looked at his laptop screen and then back to Dean.

Dean nodded and then eased himself up into a sitting position, the blip not really registering. “Now that’s out of the way, think we can, y’know, maybe watch something? I’m guessing you’re done working for now, right?”

Sam was about to say something and then stopped, eyes focused on the bottom right of his laptop screen.

Dean knew he was looking at the time there. “Yeah, man, it’s past work time. C’mon, time to have a beer and binge some TV.”

Sam closed his laptop lid and nodded in agreement. “You’re right. So, are you going to take the place?”

Dean got to his feet and stretched, spine and shoulders popping as he did. “Yeah, I think so. Unless you don’t need me to move out?”

Sam looked away for the briefest second, a cloud of regret on his face, before turning back. “If it’s too much, too soon, you don’t have to. I’m sure we can figure-”

“Hey, it’s not a problem for me, okay? I’m doing better. Honest.”

Sam closed his mouth, and nodded firmly. The two of them trailed downstairs and argued over what they were going to watch. They were still working their way through Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, but Dean was in more of a film mood now that he was downstairs. Heading into the kitchen he asked Sam to create a shortlist while Dean popped some corn on the stove.

A few more beers and salted popcorn in tow, Dean joined Sam on the couch, passing him a bottle. The big blue bowl of popcorn was set on the seat between them and they kicked out the couch’s footrests on either end, putting their feet up. If there was a bit of this house Dean would miss, it was the incredibly comfy couch. He wondered if he could pick up something like this for himself. As it was he’d be only moving in with what he had in his room at Sam’s. He had a bit saved up, but he didn’t fancy going crazy in a Pottery Barn, plus, if he wanted, maybe he could find a few older pieces and restore them to their former glory. Bobby had a workshop at the salvage yard that Dean could probably use to do that.

“Okay, the choices are…” Sam paused for dramatic effect and then began to run down the movie night shortlist. “ _Jaws_ , _Batman Begins,_ _Insidious_ … stop me if you want to know more about any of these by the way… _Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Kung Fu Hustle,_ and one we haven’t seen before… _What We Do in the Shadows_.”

“What’s that last one?” Dean asked.

“Okay, get this. It’s like this mockumentary style horror comedy… Like _This is Spinal Tap,_ only it’s with vampires!”

Dean considered the concept. “Okay that does sound remotely interesting and not a complete snooze fest.”

Hilariously, despite being a lawyer, Sam did pirate films on a semi-regular basis. A friend of his from school tended to get him releases before they were out on disc or available to stream. But if Sam liked the film enough, he’d buy it on disc when it did finally come out. His DVD collection had become a Blu-ray collection and was slowly growing. Though he only ever streamed shows like Deep Space Nine, because of the hack job that had been done with the DVD release and screwing with the screen ratio so badly—a point that Dean would passionately go on about if given half a chance, a mistake Sam never tried to make twice. But still sometimes did when he made an offhand comment about something they were watching.

“Watch it?” Sam pressed.

“Yeah, go for it. If we don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

It was hilarious. Dean hadn’t laughed that hard in weeks. The popcorn had been quickly reduced to nothing between the two of them and Dean found himself really enjoying the time with Sam. It wasn’t until the end of the film as he was clearing away the bottles and popcorn bowl that Dean realized with a pang of sadness that spontaneous movie nights weren’t something he’d have the chance to take part in anymore.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Sam said with a sad sigh as he helped Dean clear up. “Dean?”

Dean set down the bowl he’d been washing on the drying rack. “Yeah?” He turned to Sam.

“I hope you do realize that I still care about you. You get that right?”

Dean huffed out a breath and picked up a towel to dry his hands with. “Of course I do… But, just so you know, I think I won our bet.”

Sam chuckled and put a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll pick out their Christmas present this year.”

“You gonna bring Eileen this year to Lawrence?” Dean asked.

“If she wants to come.” Sam licked his lips and motioned at Dean. “You gonna bring anyone?”

Dean swallowed awkwardly. It had been a long time since he’d even brought anyone back to his room at Sam’s, let alone spent a night in someone else’s bed. After the initial rejection from Lisa, he’d had a series of quick flings and then pulled back completely. Sam maybe knew that at least two of those flings had been guys, but Dean hadn’t been able to talk about it with him. While Charlie definitely knew and Charlie wasn’t saying anything. After going from one long relationship into another, and having both fail so spectacularly on him, Dean hadn’t been in a rush to find someone else to fill that whole significant other vacancy.

“Not unless I meet someone in the next three months.”

“Right,” Sam nodded. “Well, anyway. Forget Christmas, you’ll come round for Thanksgiving, right? Eileen has big plans.”

“Ha, already? Okay, but I am in charge of pie.”

“Fine. I’ll let Eileen know.” Sam smiled. “Look… thanks for not being weird about this.”

Dean huffed out a breath and looked to the clock on the kitchen wall above the refrigerator. “Oh, would you look at the time. Some of us have to work early-”

“Dean,” Sam said firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam. “Hey, I get it. Just, don’t make a huge deal of it, okay? Anyway, I’m allowed people over according to my contract. We’ll just have to have a few movie nights around mine. Seriously, dude, you would not believe how much space I get to have.” _So much space… man, I could get a huge TV._

_“_ Okay. By the way, has Charlie asked you about Dungeons and Dragons yet?”

That stopped Dean in his tracks. Despite his conversation with Charlie that very morning, she had not mentioned anything about their Dungeons and Dragons group or messaged him about it. Dean had joined one with Charlie and her girlfriend, Dorothy, plus a small group of friends who had slowly become Dean’s friends, not long after Dean had come to Sioux Falls. They played every two weeks and next Friday would be their next session.

“What about it?” Dean returned.

“She was wondering if you could bring some of that Nicaraguan blend you guys have at the shop?”

Dean rubbed a hand down his face to mask his relief. For a moment he thought he was going to be asked if he could play host at his new place. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be moved in by that point.

“Sure.” Dean smiled at Sam and then headed in the direction of the stairs.

When he was finally in bed, Dean curled up on his side and found himself pulled into sleep easily.


	5. Chapter 5

The weekend passed by in a blur once Dean said yes to Cas’s lease and signed two copies—one for Dean and one for Cas. To Dean, the weekend was just one long shift at The Bunker with small moments in-between coffees. Like Benny, their cake and pastries supplier, dropping off some extra supplies after a visiting group of college art students piled in on the shop Saturday afternoon and left them near nothing to see them through Sunday. Thank god they didn’t drink them out of coffee and tea, but Dean was glad that they would be having their regular deliveries on Monday.

Not that Dean was there at The Bunker on Monday, because Cas had encouraged Dean to move in from the start of the week after a quick visit to drop off the lease. And Dean couldn’t blame him—he was still having difficulties with his nails. Dean had offered to cut them there and then, but Cas was insistent Dean moved in first so that Cas could show he would keep up his end of things. Dean had also been watching videos on pedicures and amateur podiatry in order to figure out how to deal with Cas’s nails and make sure his feet stayed healthy, in among packing his life into boxes.

Monday arrived, Dean was meant to have the day off anyway, with Aaron doing handover with Garth, and Dean went to Bobby’s to borrow a van to haul his things in. Sam had reluctantly gone into the office, and it had taken Dean insisting he didn’t need any help and that he’d call later to reassure Sam. _You wouldn’t believe he was the one kicking me out_ , Dean thought ruefully as he loaded up the van with Bobby’s help.

“Watch it, you idjit!” Bobby growled from the other end of the mattress he was shifting with Dean as they walked down the path to the sidewalk and the waiting van. Bobby was like a second father to Dean, had been ever since he’d moved to Sioux Falls. He’d been a distant figure to Sam and Dean as they grew up in Lawrence, but he was an old buddy of their father’s and they’d spent many a summer over at Bobby’s after they started to drive their parents mad. It wasn’t like the Winchesters could afford summer camp.

“Sorry!” Dean called from his end of the mattress, which was closest to the house.

Awkwardly and with sweat sticking his shirts to his back by this point, Dean and Bobby angled the mattress into the rear of the tan colored van. His bed frame, dismantled, was already in the van along with the few pieces of furniture he owned. He had a key ready in his back pocket for getting in and out of The Ddraig, its gates and the building, and his new rooms as needed. They’d take a second trip to come back and get the rest of his things.

A cool fall breeze blew for a moment and Dean felt himself sighing in relief as Bobby secured the doors of the van.

“That memory foam stuff any good?” Bobby asked casually, taking a moment to pull out a handkerchief and wipe at his forehead and the back of his neck before ramming his usual trucker cap back on his head. Bobby was going a bit gray, but his beard was still holding onto what chestnut it could. He straightened out his deep green plaid shirt over this old baseball tee and fixed Dean with a look. “Well?”

“Best investment I’ve ever made,” Dean replied as he finally got his breathing under control. He straightened up and headed round to the passenger side of the van as Bobby took the driver’s seat.

While the mattress had been a task and a half, the drive to The Ddraig that took even more effort. What had taken Dean little time, saw Bobby heading down roads that took them around and around in circles to where the hotel was meant to be located. It was on the third time that Dean was pretty sure they should have taken a right that he got Bobby to pullover.

“Where is the damn place?” Bobby asked in an accusatory voice, as if Dean had been making up the directions from the get go.

“Hold on,” Dean threw up his hands, “it’s around here. Look, let me drive, huh?”

Bobby’s lips thinned, but eventually he nodded. They changed seats as the dwindling rush of Monday morning traffic sped past them and Dean started the engine again. Signaling left, Dean immediately knew where he needed to take them.

“See,” Dean said as they took the right he _knew_ they needed to take. He drove the van down a familiar side street and pulled up at the gates he remembered stopping at during his initial visit to the hotel and to drop off the lease. The driveway beyond the gates was clear, the gates just needed unlocking.

“See, what?” Bobby asked, looking around and out the windows, confusion clear on his face.

Dean sighed and pointed ahead of them to the gates outside the van and hotel that was looming in the distance. “Here.”

Bobby frowned and then his eyes widened in surprise as if he was seeing his surroundings for the first time. “How the hell did I miss this place?”

“No idea. But it’s not like many people know about the place.”

The street was quiet as Dean hopped out of the van and unlocked the gates so they could drive right up to the hotel and use the main doors to start taking his things inside. Once the gates were open, Dean drove them up to the hotel and headed on inside to check if Cas was around. He headed to the sunroom on instinct and found Cas sitting in there, a light blue, short sleeved shirt on, blanket over his legs and feet as he sat in his favorite spot.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted, drawing level with his new landlord-cum-housemate.

Cas turned, opening his eyes as he did. They seemed an even brighter blue in the late morning sunshine, if that were possible. He smiled warmly. “Hello, Dean.”

“Like I said on Saturday, I’ve got Bobby here with me to help move my things in. Gonna take two trips.”

“Of course.”

“And then I need to pick up a few things for helping you out.”

“I understand.” The smile didn’t leave Cas’s face. It was a level of calm happiness that Dean hadn’t expected.

_He really is looking forward to having his nails clipped_ , Dean thought. “Cool, well, I’ll let you know when I’m heading out again and when I’m back, okay?”

“Sure. See you… later,” Cas replied, eyes closing as he relaxed in the chair. He was like a cat or a lizard, the way he was enjoying the sun.

_Well, alright then_. Dean headed off out and met up with Bobby outside the main entryway. Five minutes later they were slowly taking the mattress up the central staircase, Bobby and Dean both huffing and struggling as they managed the many stairs.

“Remind me to make your brother take a personal day the next time you move,” Bobby cursed as they finally reached the third floor. Taking a moment to catch their breath, Dean led them across the landing and down the hallway to his room. He was room 3-6 and had to wrestle the mattress as he unlocked the door. It was still taller than most doors in regular houses, but still nowhere near as tall as the doors on the first floor, so Dean and Bobby tilted the mattress to an angle to push it across the threshold.

“Where’d you want it?” Bobby asked as they entered what was the main living area.

“Through here,” Dean said, half dragging the mattress before hefting it up again. He steered them towards what was meant to be the bedroom, which had the en-suite attached to it.

Setting the mattress against a wall, Bobby rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, things audibly clicking and popping as he did. He turned around on the spot, taking in the space.

“It’s huge,” Bobby said.

“Right? It’s bigger than any apartment I’ve ever seen.” Dean walked over to the windows and looked down at the fountain outside.

“Just a bit!” Bobby followed him to the window. “So, you like the place?”

There were two questions there, Dean knew it. He was asking if he liked the building and Cas. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Bobby. I can’t quite explain it.”

“Mmm, well, if you don’t like it, know you can always spend awhile with me.”

Dean nodded to that, not trusting himself to say “thank you” as the offer reminded Dean that the people in his life there and then were the ones who really cared about him. _But would they if they knew everything?_ A traitorous voice in the back of his mind supplied as they went and fetched the rest of his furniture.

Once everything was in pieces and Dean’s toolbox was there, Bobby helped him put things back together. It was easier to hold the sides of the bed together when there were an extra pair of hands available. They worked quietly and quickly, but once his bed, chest of drawers and side table were put together, Dean felt dwarfed by the space around him. He eyed the doors to the closet in one corner and wondered how he’d ever have enough clothing to fill it.

“I think you’re gonna need a few more pieces,” Bobby pointed out.

Dean nodded. “I know… mind if I use the workshop to fix up furniture?”

Bobby let out an unsurprised harrumph and made his way back to the main door to Dean’s rooms. “You know I don’t.”

Even once Dean’s boxes of belongings were brought over to the hotel, things still looked vast and empty. Dean had driven the van that time, Bobby following in the Impala, and still almost getting lost. But they got there eventually.

“So, you’re the owner of this fine establishment?” Bobby asked Cas. They were in the sunroom and in-between moving boxes from the van. Bobby had finally insisted on meeting Dean’s new landlord-cum-housemate.

“Yes, I am,” Cas said. “And you are?”

“Bobby Singer. I own an auto shop and salvage yard, on the other side of town.”

Cas held out his hand. “Castiel Novak. Infrequent hotelier and avid reader.”

They shook hands and Dean felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. And in that second he realized that at some point, Sam would probably want to meet the guy, and Sam was far fussier than Bobby. Dean stood by while Cas and Bobby chatted a moment about the hotel and the superb condition it was in and then Bobby was all business again and determined to help Dean finish moving his stuff some time that century.

Once Bobby was gone with the van, it was nearing three in the afternoon and Dean realized he was feeling hungry. He’d missed out on an offer of grabbing a burger in-between moving things around, because he’d been too excited about moving, but now he was regretting that choice.

_I can grab something while I get a few things for Cas’s feet_ , Dean thought as he headed back to the sunroom. Cas was still there. He had a list in his hand that Cas had slipped him earlier. It had a list of items that Cas had recommended and they lined up with that Dean had read.

“I’m heading into town to get those few things for your... feet,” Dean announced as he stepped around Cas’s chair, which had shifted to follow the direction of the sun. “Anything else you need?”

Cas shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Remembering something from one of the videos he’d watched, Dean asked, “Do you have a bath you might be able to soak your feet and nails in?”

Looking thoughtful for a moment, Cas pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder, as if a bathroom would appear right behind him. He turned back to Dean. “The bath adjacent to my own rooms should be substantial enough.”

“Cool. I’ll be back in a few hours then.” Dean headed out and pondered, just for a moment, what Cas had done for this insane toenails previously. _Someone must have helped him? At some point..._

***

Hunger sated at a diner a few blocks over, Dean headed towards a nearby Walgreens. He had a mental list of what he needed to get to help with Cas, top of it was nail clippers and scissors—neither of which would work if soaking Castiel’s feet didn’t succeed in softening the toe nails. The main thing Dean was grateful for was that when he had seen Cas’s nails, aside from their impossible size, they appeared to not have any fungal infections. So Dean hunted down nail files as well—metal and cardboard backed files. Also on the list was a nice smelling bubble bath mix, because surely the guy deserved to have a bit of class? Though Dean did not go as far as buying any scented candles, because that would have been weirder than what he was already doing. The bubble bath ended up being lavender scented and promised it was made from the finest essential oils.

Slowly he filled his basket with the tools he needed, including disposable gloves, cuticle sticks, and some kind of moisturizer. Several store assistants watched Dean with mild interest as he stalked the aisles, looking for the right tools and treatments. He finished off his hunt looking for a thick pair of socks Cas could wear after Dean was done to make sure that the moisturizer had a chance to condition Cas’s skin.

Distantly, Dean was aware of the fact that he was tackling the task of handling Cas’s toenails much like he used to help Sam with school projects back in the day. With their parents both busy working to keep a roof over their heads, Dean was often the one to help Sam with his schoolwork. When Sam had an egg to look after for all of two weeks and a report on the experience to write, Dean had taken to the task with gusto. Helping Sam build a little egg crib with hand crocheted blanket, a crocheted carry pouch, setting a feeding schedule for the egg, and even digging out suitable reading material for an unfertilized glob of yolk. The reading list included _The Rainbow Fish_ , _If You Give A Moose A Muffin_ and _Stellaluna_.

When Dean reached a cashier, he was looking at a bill that was significantly smaller than rent would be in nearly any corner of the continental US, though not necessarily cheaper than a night at a skeevy motel. But he paid up and took his bags of little podiatry-cum-pedicure luxuries back to the hotel.

Driving back to the hotel without having to help Bobby get there was easy as pie for Dean. He thought it strange as he pulled up at the parking space set aside for him within the hotel’s grounds. Still, it wasn’t the strangest thing that had happened to Dean recently and the streets around The Ddraig were all very similar and maybe the street signs weren’t as clear as they could be. Dean didn’t think for a moment about the fact that Bobby had a decent sense of direction and was the one who kept everyone on the right forest paths when they used to go out camping in the summer.

Heading on into the hotel, the sky darkening, Dean checked the sunroom and found that Castiel had moved from there. Unsure quite where he might be and realizing he should probably make sure he had Cas’s cell number going forwards, Dean ventured back up to the third floor and checked out the rooms on that floor. Heading past his own, he soon found a room with the distant tinkling of music, some classical piano that he couldn’t put a name to. Dean knocked on what looked like the door to the rooms.

The music stopped. “Dean?” Cas called.

“Yeah. May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Dean opened the door and felt his wide as he looked upon the splendor that Cas had surrounded himself with. From the tops of the walls, nearly all the way to the floors, hung richly detailed tapestries depicting all manner of bizarre and beautiful beasts. There were couches, lounges, floor pouffes in a dazzling array of styles and levels of comfort scattered about the living room. Along one wall was set a deep white marble fireplace. Here and there were sculptures ranging from classical design of people to abstract that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a modern art gallery. Then there were bookcases and bookcases stuffed full of all manner of books. The original black lacquered floorboards were covered in a series of rich rugs ranging from Persian to slightly more gaudy 60’s numbers.

And in among it all was Cas relaxing on a cream chaise lounge, the familiar blanket on his lap.

_Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that Cas doesn’t need rent from me,_ Dean thought as he looked all around himself, unable to turn his eyes away from the mish mash of opulence. Nothing looked like it had been bought just for the sake of it, instead every single item had the signs of use and wear that spoke of being well loved. _I think half of this stuff may actually belong in a museum_ , Dean considered as he looked to one corner and then spotted a full set of armor that looked like it was more than 600 years old.

One corner of the room, crowded behind a huge standing world globe was a rock that had a sword sticking out of it. That sword in the stone looked more out of place than the armor in the opposite corner.

Dean’s fingers started to cramp under the weight of the supplies he’d brought up with him and he suddenly remembered he was standing in the middle of Cas’s rooms, staring at everything and saying nothing.

“Some nice things you have here,” Dean said lamely, making the understatement of the century.

But meeting Castiel’s eyes, Dean’s was treated to a beaming smile from his strange new housemate. “Why, thank you, Dean. Yes, I have worked hard to bring together my collection.”

Dean turned to the wall behind him, on the same side as the door he’d come in through. A wide selection of weapons were set upon hooks and other holders, arranged in groups of type and all easily accessible. “I can see that.”

Much of it was a clear fire hazard, but before Dean could say anything to that effect, he noted that actually there was good distance between the fireplace and everything else, and the ceiling had sprinklers and smoke detectors. He could lay off the lecture.

“I’m glad you like it… did you find the supplies you went shopping for?” Cas asked.

“What? Right! Yes I did.” Dean hefted the bags in his hands. “If now’s not inconvenient?”

“Now is perfect,” Cas replied, slipping the blanket from his lap and setting it to one side of the lounge. He stood and his impossible toenails stretched on ahead of his frame. “This way,” he said and shuffled onwards.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tried not to distract himself by looking at the impossibly sized poster bed in Castiel’s bedroom as they moved through to his ensuite bathroom. But damn was Cas’s bedroom just as fancy as the last room. Sweeping curtains hung from the pillars cornering the vast bed, rich silks in an impossible array of blues, from just turning blue morning sky to sea deep cerulean. Piles of pillows, matching the curtains, sprawled over the head of the bed. Aside from the bed, were even more book shelves, though the tomes here looked to be newer than those in the previous room, with titles Dean recognized. There was a cream vanity against one wall, covered in all manner of male grooming products. Deep closets and some hefty chests of drawers.

And still, squirreled away in one corner near a window was a little reading nook, with a high backed green leather chair, matching footstool and floor lamp that was definitely vintage. _Cas likes to read, I guess_ , Dean thought, and then caught the metallic gray of a closed laptop, settled against the feet of the chair. _And still lives with at least one foot in this century_.

Castiel opened the bathroom door. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Dean thought for a moment. He suspected Cas would need to soak his feet for at least a good thirty minutes. “Is there a book you might enjoy reading? I’m afraid you’ll have to soak your feet for a while first.”

Castiel frowned and then pointed towards a bedside table. “There, the Aaranovitch, if you please.”

Dean juggled the bags he carried and walked over to the bedside table. The book in question was on top and called _Rivers of London._ Picking up the book, he motioned for Cas to head on into the bathroom and he followed behind him.

The two of them worked together to get the bath running, which was a small pool in size. It had high sides, three that weren’t against a wall and easily accessed, and the right amount of room for Cas to sit on an inbuilt seat. Finding some towels, Dean folded a blue one into a cushion for Cas to sit on, and then helped Cas to get into the bath before he started running the water. Cas had hiked up his shorts a little, to make sure the backs of them didn’t end up in water.

“Okay, you get comfy and let me know if this is too hot or too cold, okay?” Dean asked.

“Of course.” Cas’s rested a waiting hand on the book he’d picked out.

Dean set to work, turning on the faucet and setting the plug. He found the lavender bubble bath and poured a long dollop into the flowing water—it was a large bath, after all. He then kept his hand in the water, swirling the suds as they formed, and kept an eye on the water’s temperature as the bathtub slowly filled. The water got to a near scorchingly high temperature before Dean started to wonder if Cas could sense the temperature was so hot.

“Cas, are you sure this temperature is fine?”

“Oh, what?” Cas asked like he was coming out of a doze.

“Is this temperature fine?” Dean repeated.

“Uh, yes?”

Dean frowned and cut off the hot water as he allowed cold to continue to fill the tub. Once the water was well over the curves of Cas’s nails, Dean stopped the flow and stood. Even with the addition of cold for those last few moments, the water was still far warmer than what Dean would personally enjoy if he were to have a bath.

Pulling out his cell, Dean set up a timer and started it. “I’m going to unpack some of my things. You, just sit here and relax, okay, Cas, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Of course. Thank you, Dean.” Cas gave a warm smile and then picked up his book.

Dazzled a little by the warmth in the look Cas gave him, Dean awkwardly returned the sentiment and then headed off back to his own rooms, still amazed by the sheer wealth of belongings he passed in Cas’s rooms. In contrast, Dean’s pale white walls and black lacquered floor boards had hardly anything to occupy them. It wasn’t that Dean was a minimalist by choice, it was just that over the years, aside from his record collection, he’d never had either time, money or (really) inclination at the same time to buy lots of things for himself. Even with clothes, he had limited items and a habit of only buying new jeans when they clearly had started to wear out beyond the needs of a quick patching job. And even his coffee journal came every quarter, so it wasn’t like he was swimming in issues of even that.

Though as he looked at the space, Dean did consider one thing he might treat himself to, now that he had more privacy. But he would need to sort out address changes for all his accounts first. Forgetting unpacking, Dean settled down with his tablet, sat in the middle of the open living room floor, cell beside him, and started changing his personal information as needed.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!_

Dean jerked away from his cell, tablet slipping down his thigh as the timer ended. _Already?!_ Dean thought to himself and scrambled back for his cell, shutting the timer off. He got to his feet. _Welp, let’s see how this goes_ , Dean thought as he headed on out of his rooms and went back down the hall to Castiel’s. As he walked, he went over the tips he’d picked up, including which direction to cut. He was going to get Cas to keep his feet in the bath, as it would make it easier to deal with the shrapnel of what they were about to undertake.

Entering Castiel’s rooms again, Dean didn’t linger as he walked through back to the ensuite. He knocked on the door before entering. “Time’s up.”

Cas set down his book and looked to Dean. “Of course. Should I get my feet out of the bath?”

Dean shook his head. “Stay put for now.”

Heading over to the plug, Dean pulled it and set it aside, allowing the near sudless cool water to drain away. As the bath emptied, Dean pulled out the tools he needed. He washed his hands at the sink and then snapped on a pair of the medical gloves he’d bought. And then he pulled on a pair of goggles he’d stowed away in his boxes from Sam’s.

“Alright, Cas, I’m gonna try the clippers first at the ends. I need you to hold as still as you can, but, like let me know if it hurts at any point, okay?” Dean knelt down beside the bathtub.

“Of course.”

“Okay, just slide your left foot a little closer to the side of the tub,” Dean directed. Cas complied and Dean reached out to the end of Cas’s little toe with his right hand while his left supported the nails on that foot. Bringing the toenail clippers to the tip of the off-white keratin, Dean set the clippers with a small slither of nail going between the mouth. He pushed down on the clippers, expecting a click and a “ping” as a slither of nail rebounded from the bathtub’s side.

Nothing happened.

Dean pressed down again.

Nothing.

Dean pulled back the clippers from the nail and set them down beside him on the white tiles of the bathroom floor. He picked up the nail scissors he’d bought as well. He hadn’t wanted to rely on them, because the control would be less than the clippers, he’d only wanted to use them for awkward bits. Positioning the scissors with a small section of nail set in them, Dean closed the scissors. Or at least he tried to, but the scissors wouldn’t cut the nail either, instead acting like Dean was trying to cut rock.

“Is something the matter?” Cas asked, concern in his voice.

Dean set the scissors down and stood to face Cas. “The clippers and scissors I bought can’t seem to do anything.”

“Oh dear,” Cas said forlornly. Dean looked at him and saw a look of worry and confusion there/

If Dean had access to medical grade cutting tools—like surgical tools—he knew he might be able to make a difference, but there was no way he could get his hands on something like that. _Think, Winchester, think_ … Mind picking over the puzzle, Dean thought about the shop tools he’d be using to sort out the furniture for his new rooms. It was potentially very dangerous. But it had a chance of working.

“Cas, would you, be okay with me using woodworking tools to cut your nails down?” Dean tried.

Cas’s eyes went wide at the suggestion and he gulped a little. “Woodworking tools?”

“Like… bolt cutters? Maybe a saw? Sandpaper? It’s up to you, but I could try to get some surgical tools, though I’m not sure how I’d get those either.”

“Surgical tools?!”

“Cas, I can’t cut your nails with regular stuff. They’re too hard. I’d start small! Like the bolt cutters.” Dean was beginning to appreciate why no regular podiatrist was able to help Cas in the past. And, Dean considered, he’d just been soaking his toes for an age and the longer they left it, the drier the nails would become again. If they didn’t get this done soon, they’d have to soak his nails again. _I’ll need to be quick…_

_“_ I suppose,” Cas answered uncertainly.

“What did you use in the past?” Dean asked.

“I normally found it… uncomfortable to watch what was going on,” Cas admitted. “So, I don’t really know.”

Dean pulled off his gloves and pushed the goggles back. “Do you mind if I head over to Bobby’s? Then I’ll have access to all manner of tools.” He hoped Bobby wouldn’t mind the early evening intrusion.

Cas paled a little and swallowed hard. “Okay… you won’t be long will you?”

Dean thought about their earlier trips and where to avoid the end of rush hour. “No, I shouldn’t be. Think you can stay here while I get what I need? We can exchange cell numbers in case you get worried?”

That suggestion seemed to help Cas untense a little. “I’d like that.”

The two of them exchanged numbers and Dean got Cas a glass of water before heading off to Singer Salvage and Auto Repair. Calling Bobby in the car as he drove over, Bobby cursed a little down the line, but in the end said he was okay with Dean borrowing a few things—not that he knew quite what for.

***

“Hey, Cas, I’m back!” Dean called through the rooms, a canvas bag slung over his right shoulder, its contents clinking together with each step he took.

“Hello, Dean!” Cas replied, voice surprisingly happy, considering he’d been stuck in the bathtub for over an hour by that point.

Heading into the ensuite, Dean took in the partially drunk glass of water and the bookmark between the pages of Cas’s book, which had shown he’d made significant progress through the novel. Dean for a moment wondered what Cas’s secret was to reading that fast, but then pushed the thought away as he hurried over to the tub and started pulling things out of the bag. He handed Cas a pair of goggles and a respirator, and helped him put them on. Then Dean put a matching pair of goggles and respirator on himself. Then, from out of the bag he pulled out an extension cord and ran it out to an outlet in Castiel’s room and then plugged a Dremel into it. A selection of Dremel attachments were set side in a box beside it. Then Dean pulled out bolt cutters of various sizes, huge metal files that were usually used in woodwork and a Japanese wood saw: he set them all down neatly on the tiles beside the tub.

Looking at his selection, Dean picked up a pair of bolt cutters that would need both his hands to operate but that he figured would be strong enough for the task at hand. Dean held the cutters up for Cas to see.

“I’m gonna try these first, okay?” Dean said louder than he would normally speak so as not to be muffled by the mask.

“Okay,” Cas replied loudly as well.

“You need to let me know immediately at all if this hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dean got into position by the tub and glanced back at the canvas bag. There was a first aid box still in the bag and Dean prayed that he wasn’t about to need it.

Sweat started to bead at Dean’s forehead as he leaned over the tub, the cutters in hand. He lined the cutters up with the end of the curled mess that was the nail for Cas’s left little toe and paused. Slowly, in his head, he counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One—snip!

Dean watched as if in slow motion as the cutters bit through the impossibly tough nail and sent a short rectangle of white pinging off of the side of the tub and rebounding several times before it settled somewhere in the bathroom. Looking around, Dean found the piece of nail near the tool bag and picked it up. He held it towards Cas.

“Well, I think that worked,” Dean said simply.

“Agreed. Please, continue.” Cas nodded.

Given the go ahead, Dean leaned in over the side of the tub again and got to work. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Chunk by chunk, Dean cut the little toe nail down to something resembling a normal, human length. It would still need filing, but that could wait until Dean had managed to get the rest of the nails down to something resembling normal every day lengths. Pieces of nail flew around the bathroom, pinging off the tub, ceiling and floor—Dean was glad he’d thought to pick up the protective gear that he had—with much of the clippings landing in the tub. He wasn’t sure how long it took to cut down Cas’s nails, but he eventually had all ten toe nails down to just a shade of extension beyond the tips of Cas’s toes. Clearing the clippings away, and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Dean cleared away what he could find, dumping the remains in a trash bag he brought up with him.

“That went better than I was expecting,” Dean said as he thought about stage two.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“I still need to file them though… think you can walk to your chair in your bedroom?”

Dean couldn’t tell if there was a wry smile on Castiel’s face as he nodded, but Dean still helped him out of the tub. Cas swayed a little and stumbled as he got out, falling into Dean’s arms. Their eyes met as they looked at each other through the goggles, and Cas’s hands tightened on Dean’s arms more than they needed to. Then the moment was gone as Cas got used to his feet a touch more and let go.

They didn’t say a word as the two of them trooped out of the ensuite, Dean bringing the files and Dremel with him, dragging the extension cord. Once the filing was done, Dean would check over Cas’s cuticles, though perhaps soaking his feet again but in a bowl, and then moisturize and have Cas put on the fluffy socks Dean had picked up. As Cas got himself situated in his reading chair and Dean took a place on the stool beside it and patted his thigh, inviting Cas to put his leg on Dean’s leg. Cas obliged Dean and he picked up the grade of file that he figured would make the easiest work of Cas’s inhumanly strong nails.

Hand on top of Cas’s foot, Dean said, “Just let me know if this hurts, okay?”

And again, Cas said, “Okay.”

Now that Dean had Cas’s foot in his lap and was cradling it as he held it in place to let him work, Dean’s brain started to catch up with not only how bizarre his first evening in his new place was turning out to be and at the same time how holding Cas’s foot as he was the closest he’d gotten to another human being in months. Swallowing, Dean tried to focus on the task at hand—fulfilling his end of the contract he’d signed. So, he took the file and started on Cas’s right big toe, pushing the file along the length of nail, from the edge to the center of the nail. Push and lift. Push and lift. Over and over.

Clouds of nail dust smoked into the air, and Dean felt his biceps ache as he continued the motion, over and over. Moving slowly but surely from one nail to the next. Then, once most of the work was done, he added a buffing attachment to the end of the Dremel and smoothed away the little rough edges still there on Cas’s nails. One by one, until Cas’s nails were smooth and looked nothing like they had when Dean first met the man.

As the dust drifted away, Dean pulled his goggles and mask off, and Cas copied him. They both marveled at Cas’s toes, leaning in closer than perhaps they’d intended to. Dean quickly shifted back, back ramrod straight.

“Now, just few finishing touches and I think we’ll be done.” Dean got up and went looking for his original supplies.

Soon enough, Cas had helped Dean find a foot sized bowl, which he filled with quite warm water and set aside some towels next to it. He had Cas soak his feet while Dean got the rest of his tools sorted and sent a message to Bobby saying he’d buy him some new kit, because Dean suspected Bobby wouldn’t want it all back again. Ten minutes later, Dean had Cas take his feet out of the water, and he dried his feet gently with a towel, patting the water away.

With Cas’s right foot in his lap again, Dean wondered what he had been thinking as he finished sorting Cas’s cuticles. Because the next course of action was to moisturize Cas’s feet and there was no way he could do it without it being some type of foot massage. It had seemed like such a thoughtful thing to do and necessary for the guy who was letting him rent for the mere inconvenience of cutting impossible toenails. But Dean could remember all the times he’d massaged the feet of Cassie and Lisa, and what that had led to. They were in the guy’s bedroom, for god’s sake!

_You don’t have to let this go anywhere you don’t want it to_ , Dean reminded himself, _plus Cas probably isn’t even interested anyway_. _You’re just doing another human being a nice favor, he’s giving you a roof over your head. It isn’t sex. It’s a pedicure._ But Dean looked up into Cas’s eyes, their masks and goggles removed now that there weren’t bits of nail going everywhere. The air between them felt full with potential.

Dean gulped and opened up the moisturizer, the argan oil in it offering a light citrus smell and squirted a small amount onto the top of Cas’s right foot. Raising his hands, Dean gripped either side, sliding his thumbs through the white glob of moisturizer and started to push it around the lightly damp skin of Cas’s foot. Spread and push, spread and push. Thumbs circling and then his other fingers joining in as he worked the moisturizer to the sole of Cas’s foot and down to his heel and up to his toes. Then he started in on the joints around Castiel’s toes and a moan escaped Cas as he noticeably relaxed back into the cushions of his high backed chair. The rumbling moan traveled through Dean, vibrating through his core and dick.

Gulping, Dean shifted where he sat, trying to discreetly move his dick so that his arousal wasn’t obvious as he finished up with Cas’s right foot. Sneaking a look at Cas, he could see that his cheeks were flushed, much like the warmth Dean felt in his own.

“Left foot, please,” Dean squeaked and Cas obliged.

Cas was like jelly in Dean’s hands, as he spread the moisturizer and worked it into the skin of Cas’s left foot. Low little breathy moans kept coming from Cas and it made things incredibly awkward as Dean worked at Cas’s foot in his lap. But he followed through with what he promised, aching as he did, and finished by putting the new socks on Castiel’s feet—a piercing sky blue like Cas’s eyes.

When he was done, Dean found himself pinned to the foot stool by Castiel’s gaze alone as he looked at Dean through lazy long eyelashes. The sun had long since set and Dean knew he should be feeling hungry and looking to get something for dinner, but he was trapped.

With noticeable effort on Cas’s part, he said in a low husky voice, “Thank you, Dean. If you’re finished…” Cas’s voice trailed off into uncertainty.

“Don’t… worry, I’ll get everything packed away,” Dean said in a rush. He turned as he stood, hoping to rearrange himself again and trap his dick in a position where it wouldn’t give him away. He hurriedly packed up, stowing everything back in the bags he brought it in. And then with a quick “see you in the morning” Dean hurried out of Castiel’s rooms and back down the hall.

He locked himself in his rooms, food forgotten for the moment, as he dumped everything and jogged into his bathroom, locking the door behind him. He’d at least set out towels for himself ahead of time, but Dean got the shower going in its cubicle near his own huge bathtub, and got in. The water was cold and he kept it that way.


	7. Chapter 7

“How’s the new place?” Sam asked and took a swig from the oat milk flat white he’d ordered for himself. Garth had forced Dean to take a break, so he could go talk to his brother, which felt more like a betrayal than anything else. Like Dean wanted to be talking about his feelings and how he was doing with anyone—his therapist had been chasing him to make a new appointment as well, now that she was back from vacation.

Dean had been a little surprised to see Sam come into The Bunker that Friday morning. But not entirely, he was three and a bit days deep into the weirdest living arrangement he’d ever been in and had so far glossed over his new living situation with Sam when he was inevitably called each night. How else was Sam meant to find out what was going on in Dean’s life, bar showing up at the hotel itself once Dean was done with work for the day?

“It’s spacious,” Dean said. Thursday night, Dean and Cas had agreed to have dinner at the same time and Dean had cooked up spaghetti and meatballs, which Cas had practically made sound like it was sex on a plate. They’d sat at different ends of a large dining table, nearly shouting to each other, but Cas’s response to the food had been obvious enough. They wouldn’t be having dinner together Friday night, as Dean would be heading over to Charlie’s for Dungeons and Dragons, but Cas had promised to cook something for Saturday. Dean had wondered how Cas was going to get ingredients for cooking and had then remembered that Cas seemed pretty adept at doing stuff online.

“Spacious?” Sam nodded to himself. “Well, I tried to stop by yesterday, but I think you’ve given me the wrong address. I couldn’t find it.”

“It’s near Fawick Park, like I told you.” Dean held up his hands. “If you can’t find it, it’s not my fault.”

“Can you at least drive me over to have a look this weekend? Bobby said it’s a pain in the ass to find.”

“Fine.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the cup of black coffee he’d poured for himself.

“And speaking of Bobby, he said you bought him a bunch of new tools for his workshop?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean didn’t feel right giving back the tools he’d borrowed and found it easier to just buy Bobby new of what he’d taken. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why didn’t you just get yourself new tools?” Sam frowned eyes focused entirely on Dean, making him feel like he was strapped to a chair, glaring light beaming down on him.

Pondering why he felt the need to hide that he’d needed the tools for Cas, Dean circled his finger around a knot of wood in the top of the varnished pine table they were sat at. He wasn’t sure what had passed between him and Cas, but it was something and he wasn’t ready to share that with anyone yet, he knew that much.

“I messed a couple up… and figured it would be better to just buy Bobby some new ones.”

“What were you doing, installing shelves?”

“Yeah. And it went a little sideways. I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking, just figured it was easier all round if I bought Bobby a few new things.”

Sam gave Dean a skeptical look, but didn’t push the line of questioning any further. Spending a moment staring into their respective drinks, Dean was slightly touched that Sam had found time in his busy schedule to come in and see Dean. He knew Sam cared about him, but Dean had spent enough of his life wondering if maybe he was getting in the way of everyone else’s—something he’d been working on with his therapist since Sam had persuaded him to see one.

“I’m sure you know already, but Doctor McLeod is waiting on you to make an appointment.” Sam looked up from his drink. “She left me a message to remind you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and pouted. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.”

“You know you should just get it over with and book your next appointment.”

Knowing that he should and doing it were two very different things. He felt the weight of his cell in his pocket and looked around the coffee shop. It was quiet for the moment, the only other customers on the other side of the shop. With a long suffering sigh, Dean pulled his cell out and unlocked it, sliding over to Doctor Rowena McLeod’s number. He hit dial and showed Sam the screen as the number dialed and started to ring.

Dean put the cell to his ear. After five rings, the call connected.

“Dean, wonderful to hear from ye. So, ready to schedule your next session?” Rowena asked, Scottish twang renewed just that bit more, likely from spending time with family during her vacation.

“Yes.”

“I can do Monday at 4 pm, like normal?”

“Sounds just peachy,” Dean replied. “Four on Monday it is.”

“Excellent. See you then.” Rowena hung up and Dean locked his cell again.

“Happy?” Dean asked Sam.

Nodding, Sam picked up his flat white. “Now? Yeah.” He threw back the last of the frothy beverage and set the cup down. “Well, I need to get going.”

“What, already? And I was just starting to enjoy myself too,” Dean teased.

“Well, you know, lawyering things to do.”

“People to see.”

“Hours to bill.”

“Assholes to defend.”

“Hey, they’re not all assholes. Jerk!” Sam said, with no real venom.

“Bitch!” Dean answered with a smile. He stood up and allowed Sam to pull him into a tight hug.

With Sam gone, Dean’s break was over and he headed on behind the counter to join Garth.

“How’s Sam?” Garth asked.

“Oh, y’know,” Dean said, tying his apron back on, “worried about me. The usual.”

Garth nodded sagely and then hurried over to the till as a horde of hungry looking Lamaze attendees descended on The Bunker from the yoga and pilates studio that was based across the road. And quickly, Dean was being swarmed with orders for caffeine-free hot beverages and slices of cake.

***

“Who ordered the Chicken Alfredo Supreme?” Dean asked his Dungeons and Dragons group as Charlie got set up at the head of her dining table, and laid a dungeon map in the center. On the map she set little miniatures that represented each of the players’ characters. The map was hand drawn on vinyl and right in front of the Dungeon Master screen that Charlie had made for herself. On the sides of the red screen, written in gold marker, were the names of player characters she had sent to the hereafter. Beside the screen was a pile of rule books and guides for Dungeons and Dragons 3.5—Charlie had made it very clear to Dean when he had initially joined the group that they did not play 4th edition under her roof. (Though she was excited by the release of 5th edition and was looking forward to seeing soon how she could move the game over to the newer rules.)

The group played every other Friday, alternating each session with either pizza or potluck. Dean preferred the pizza sessions, even though he was an excellent cook, on account of the fact that the same couldn’t be said for some of their other players. Dorothy kept coming up with concoctions that rarely waded into tasty, Kevin was obsessed with hot dogs, Charlie tried to over complicate things and usually ended up with a mess, Jo tended to just bring bar snacks (which was criminal when Dean considered the buffalo wings served at The Roadhouse, which Jo had easy access to), and Ash? Ash would only cook one thing and it was a tuna casserole of varying levels of tuna. Not the worst effort, but Dean was positive he’d found squid in one once.

“That’s mine!” Ash called from his corner of the table, favorite dice already picked out of his dice box and lined up in front of him. Dean doled out Ash’s pizza to him and then checked through with the rest of the orders. Charlie and Dorothy had a Thai Chicken Pizza to share with some garlic bread, Kevin had a Big Kahuna, Jo a classic cheese and tomato sauce and Dean had a All Meat, which he would not be telling Sam about on Saturday.

Once pizza, sodas, plates and napkins were all doled out, Charlie called everyone to attention and the session began.

“So, last session, you managed to get past the prison guards, after spending an age getting ready. And you were trying to figure out if Ger the Wizard was worth breaking out after all, having overheard a conversation between the local justice and Sir Oddnuns, the knight who had captured Ger in the first place.” Charlie took a sip of soda. “You have until just before the cock crows to decide your final actions.”

Dean swallowed a bite of pizza, the combined taste of Canadian Bacon, pepperoni, Italian sausage, bacon, beef and mozzarella cheese exploding over his tongue. He frowned for a second in thought and then put his out of character hat on by placing his hand on his head. “Okay, so Hirst has no reason to distrust Ger, every reason to believe Ger is innocent. They did grow up in the same village together. So just so you all know, I’m gonna be pushing for us to continue the rescue mission.”

Hirst was a half-elf bard who swung all the ways. At level four, he was already well-established in-game as someone not to be left alone with anyone you didn’t want the pants romanced off of. Hirst tended towards being chaotic good, with little to no respect for the rule of law if it seemed to go against his own ideas of justice. Hirst played a mean flute and was a renowned actor.

Jo put a clean hand on top of her head. “Well, Lady Ellis has never trusted Ger, and has little reason left to trust him. Remember the rumors of what he did back in Jonda? Those are Lady Ellis’s people.” Lady Ellis was a lawful-good paladin, a half-orc, and overall defender of the meek and unrepresented.

Everyone else soon got their non-pizza hands on their heads, except for Charlie, who was quietly watching the conversation unfold. Ash was playing a well-regarded tiefling wizard who was known to be a bit of risk taker when it came to magic. Kevin was a half-elf fighter of renowned martial skill, who tended towards neutral good, due to years as a soldier.

“But Ger might know where that cave is!” Dorothy piped up. Her character was a wheeling-and-dealing dwarf rogue who liked to find ways to fill her pockets with gold and jewels as often as possible.

The five of them debated out of character for several minutes what their likely course of action would be and then they got into character. Between bites of pizza and rolling D20s (twenty sided dice), the five of them went to Ger and tried to break him out as discreetly as possible. Dean let everyone’s enjoyment of the game fill him as he played, allowing himself to just sink into the fictional world that they had made together with Charlie over the past year. Not having to think about himself for a while and just his character was always a welcome relief and something that had been touched on in his sessions with Dr. McLeod a few times.

All too soon four hours had passed and it was time they started wrapping up. With a group of knights incapacitated after they’d made a daring escape with Ger, who Hirst was by then on side with Lady Ellis in thinking they were going to be betrayed soon enough, it was time to wrap things up. Dean pulled his dice set into the bag that Kevin had hand knitted for him and pulled its drawstring tight, closing it. With having covered Garth the previous weekend, Dean didn’t have to worry about getting home to sleep and be ready to head in early for a shift, but he was still feeling tired enough.

“Everyone okay for the next game in two weeks?” Charlie asked as everyone, bar Dorothy, started to gather to leave.

The four of them agreed it was fine and then slowly filtered out of Charlie’s place, heading out into the cool night air. Dean shivered a little and pulled his green jacket tighter around himself as he made his way to the Impala.

***

The Ddraig loomed in the darkness, ethereal in the moonlight, no real external lighting to speak of. Dean hadn’t come back this late since he’d moved in. Heading for the front door, he let himself in, locking the doors back up behind him. Somewhere, a clock ticked over and started ringing midnight, the chimes echoing through the immense space. There were no lights left on, which was fine, because Dean had the light of his cell phone to guide him.

Dean walked down the entryway and to what would be the front desk if the hotel was open, and looked to the sweeping stairway that led up to his rooms. He started towards the stairs and then stopped. An icy chill ran down his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his skin break out in goosebumps. He didn’t know what compelled him, but he looked to his right and the closed off East Wing doors.

One door was pushed in, leaving the doors open.

It wasn’t curiosity that made Dean’s feet walk him towards the open door. No. It was a sense of foreboding as the temperature started to drop, the closer he got to the wing, phone light illuminating a small sphere in front of him. A part of him knew he should just turn away, maybe just give up on living anywhere and run all the way back to his car and drive back to Sam’s. _What are you doing?_ Dean pleaded with himself, but he kept walking until his breath was misting in front of him. He took a deep breath and squeezed past the open door.

Shining the light around, he saw painters’ scaffolding towering up the sides of the walls, dust sheets and shuttered windows. There were no chandeliers here and the whole place looked like Cas had said: having work done on it and not up to code. Nothing weird, just cans of paint and what looked like stuff for mixing up plaster. For a moment, Dean wondered if Cas had had professionals in to deal with this, but had had them bail on him, as everything had a thin layer of dust. As he swept his light around the space, taking small steps in, he saw a trail through the dust, right down the middle of the dust sheets protecting the intricate floor beneath. He followed the trail deeper into the wing, shivering as he walked and tried to rationalize that one of the shutters might be pulled back and a window open.

The wing slowly ended on what looked like a ballroom through a set of glass doors, a bar running down the right hand side of the room. Dean was reminded of _The Shining_ and the ballroom in the fictional Overlook Hotel. Shivering, teeth clattering in his mouth, he opened the door and peered inside proper, seeing that the space was similarly in a state of mid-repair and decorating. He wondered what kinds of events might have been held there in decades past and prayed that none of them had been dodgy New Year’s Eve parties with corrupt souls. But if Dean was being fair to The Ddraig, he and Sam hadn’t dug up anything on the place that was like the horror depicted in the novel of The Shining. The only knowable blemish against the place here was the unexplained death in the 80’s.

Looking around the ballroom, Dean found a window with an open shutter. He walked across the immense floor and looked out at it to see the moon shining down in the night sky above. As he stood by the window, the glass started to frost up and Dean’s shivering grew harder.

“The moon is beautiful,” a young, unrecognizable male voice said from Dean’s left.

Dean looked to his left and then felt a presence immediately beside him, out of his field of vision. He spun round and held in a scream as his light picked up the ghostly form of a young man with sunken eyes and a curious look on his face.

“Hello?” the ghost said.

Dean turned and ran. Ran as fast as his feet would take him. He barreled out of the east wing and headed for the stairs instead of his car. Behind him, the door slammed shut, but Dean kept running. His legs screamed at him to stop as he went up several flights of stairs, but he didn’t stop. He just ran, heart hammering in his chest.

Fumbling the lock on his door, Dean crashed into his own room and locked the door behind him and tried to breathe as he slumped down to the floor. He sat with his legs out in front of him, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, panic sweat making his shirt stick to his back. It took him a moment, but Dean realized that it wasn’t freezing in his room, instead it was just right.

“Dean?” Cas called from his door and knocked on it. “Dean, is everything okay?”

Dean tried to say something but his voice cracked into a whine rather than words.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dean,” Cas tried again, but Dean wouldn’t look at him.

On the floor in his living room, not that it looked much like one yet, Dean sat with his arms around his legs and his head on his knees, back to the wall. He had opened his door to Cas, but had so far been unresponsive to anything else asked by his house mate.

Above him, Cas sighed and then sat down next to Dean. He scooted over to him and dimly, Dean was aware of arms wrapping around him from the side, of the heat of another body joining his own, the heat bleeding through his shirt and jeans. It was like sitting beside a radiator and that was what Dean needed after what had happened downstairs. Cas breathed with purpose and soon Dean found the rapid breaths he’d been taking slowly leveled out and he was breathing something approaching normal, his heart rate slowed back down to a more typical pace.

Then Dean unwound himself and Cas eased him into his arms, resting Dean’s head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for some time as Dean’s thoughts chased around themselves in his head and he wondered why he hadn’t just run back out to his car again and left it at that. He’d felt safe in his rooms the past few days and maybe that was why as he let this man, only a few steps away from being a stranger, hold onto him and soothe his wrecked nerves.

“Dean… what happened?” Cas asked quietly.

Asking if a place was ghost free was not exactly something Dean could just go out and do. Charlie just about believed him that he could see them and that they were real, but hardly anyone else in his life had ever shown such openness to the whole afterlife being kind of real and often full of ghosts. But as Dean tried to find some semblance of calm and the nerve to say that he was moving out and thanks and all to Cas, he wondered if maybe, the guy with impossible nails might be open to the idea of what he’d seen.

After all, they were both freaks.

Dean cleared his throat. “I saw a ghost.”

“In the east wing?” Cas asked.

_Wait, what?!_ “Yeah.”

Cas let out a long, sad sigh. “You met Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Mmmm, he is the spirit of a poor young man who passed some, must have been, thirty years ago now.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment as he turned this revelation around in his head. _Cas knows there’s a ghost? Wait, what?_

_“_ You knew?” Dean croaked.

“I had hoped that my warning about the east wing had been sufficient, but clearly not. He can’t leave it,” Cas explained. “He’s bound to that place and I can do nothing about it.”

“Wait, you believe ghosts are real?” Dean pulled away from Cas and shakily got to his legs.

Cas followed him. “Yes. Though I am surprised you can see them.” Tilting his head to the side and squinting, it felt like Cas was studying him.

“You’re surprised?!”

“Yes, though now that I look more closely, I see that your energies suggest an inclination for such things.” Cas straightened up. “I apologize for the fear that you must have experienced this night. It was not my intention for you to ever be placed in such a position. I understand if you wish to move out.”

Dean was about to say he was going to, but then he looked at Cas standing before him in the moonlight, all the awkwardness of when his nails were long, all gone. He recalled the impossibly long nails Cas had endured and found himself worrying what would happen to Cas if he were to leave, permanently. Not that Cas was Dean’s responsibility.

“You can see ghosts too?” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, as he tried to understand what was going on.

Cas nodded. “Yes.”

“How is it we can see ghosts?”

Cas looked away for a moment and then met Dean’s gaze. “Well, you appear to be some kind of medium. Though not trained.”

“And you?” Dean pushed.

A smile curled Cas’s lips and he looked away before looking back. “Again, Dean, I understand if you wish to leave. You are free to do so.”

“Just answer the question.”

“You’ll likely think me insane.”

“Dude, you seem pretty okay with me being able to see ghosts and think that a ghost lives in this place, so I think we’re pretty well past that.”

Cas paced away from Dean and walked over to the other side of the room to face Dean. He was caught in a wide beam of moonlight, his shadow large against the pale wall. “Are you sure you want to know Dean? You’ll see things differently if you do. I don’t think you’ll be able to go back to how things were before.”

“Cas what are you going on about? Are you about to tell me you’re some kind of uber ghost? Because if you are, you’re the exact opposite of every ghost I’ve encountered. You have a pulse and body heat for one.”

The air grew several degrees warmer and Dean kept his eyes on Cas.

“This is your last warning, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Very well.”

Cas took several steps away from the wall, his shadow growing as he did. Behind him, his shadow contorted and grew into a hulking form. A long serpentine neck twisting and unfurling, feathers running down its sides, as a smooth tail also curled along in the shadows. A pair of immense wings unfurled, feathered silhouettes on the wall. The shadow snaked up the wall as tall as the ceiling, more than fifteen feet away from the floor.

Dean was about to say something of it being a trick of the moonlight when a winged swooshing noise sounded and a wave of hot air brushed over Dean.

“I am a dragon,” Cas announced like he was stating that the weather outside was cool and breezy today.

Dean’s brain gave up and he fainted.


	9. Chapter 9

Flying high above the sky, Dean could see the roads and buildings of Sioux Falls spread out beneath him like a giant patchwork quilt. He felt wind streaming through his hair as he rose and fell with the wingbeats of an immense creature, it’s gold and black feathers shifting beneath him along with its glittering blue scales. The creature’s long neck stretched ahead of Dean, and tilted this way and that as the creature changed direction. Dean tightened his grip on the creature’s feathers each time that the change in direction was more than he was expecting.

The sky was a calming azure, streaks of clouds dotted along it like the beep and pause of Morse code. What surprised Dean was that he didn’t feel scared, like he would if he was going to take a flight across the country. Instead he felt safe and protected by the creature between his legs, and when he leaned down during particular steep dives, lining up with the creature’s neck, he felt a comforting warmth that bled through him and made him think of long nights curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over himself and a lover—with a roaring fire in the fireplace and hot coco.

Dean and the creature built up height and then took a huge dive down towards the park near The Ddraig. Suddenly, Dean remembered why he hated flying as he screamed, the ground rushing up to meet them.

“DEAN!”

Dean jerked awake and found he was hanging out of the side of his bed, only his tangled sheets stopping him from hitting the floor. Cas stood beside him, a perplexed look on his face as he held his hands out in case Dean did fall. Behind Cas was one of the many chairs from his own rooms dragged in to Dean’s, a book resting on its seat cushion. Morning sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows, the sky beyond a gorgeous blue—it was looking to be a nice day.

“Cas?” Dean said with a yawn and then scrambled back into bed, and away from Cas. “What happened?!”

Cas stood up and let his arms fall to his sides. He gave Dean a long suffering look and shrugged. “Nothing happened. You fainted and I carried you to your bed.”

_Fainted?_ Dean thought and then walked himself back through his dream and then it came to him—the ghost, Cas’s confession and the impossible shadow that had grown out from behind him. But Dean then found himself questioning if any of that had really happened—he could believe that maybe he had somehow managed to find the hotel’s only ghost, but Cas? A dragon? Dean was certain that he was just misremembering the night before. There was no way that Cas had told him he was a dragon— _right?_ Dean looked to Cas, who was giving him the full concerned look, all frowns and pursed lips. It was cute.

_Get it together! Think, what happened last night? I came home, there was that damn ghost in the east wing. I came upstairs. Cas stopped by. I… He…_

_“_ Dean, do you remember last night at all?” Cas prompted.

“You’re a dragon!” Dean yelled, launching himself out of his bed and hunting around for his boots. He realized, too late, he was partially undressed, his jeans from the day before gone. “You undressed me!” Dean pointed an accusing finger at Castiel, backing himself into the corner.

“Which are you more outraged by?” Cas deadpanned.

Dean opened his mouth to object to such brazenly unsympathetic treatment, but nothing came out as he tried to speak.

“Hmm, both?” Cas posited as he stayed where he was.

Dean knew it was time to get going, he spotted his pants and yanked them towards him. Quickly dressing, Dean also spotted his boots. He’d need Bobby’s van to get everything again, but he was sure he could be out before the end of the day and Garth wasn’t expecting him to handle a shift—he had time. So long as Cas didn’t pull anything crazy. Which, now that he thought about it, was entirely plausible and Dean wondered if maybe he could get away with grabbing his record collection and jamming that in the Impala when he left.

“Look, clearly, you’re… concerned,” Cas hazarded, hands up in a placating gesture. “But, Dean, please. I can explain or at least apologize.”

Dean cleared his throat and met Cas’s eyes. “That whole toenails thing, that a dragon thing?”

Cas nodded.

“Why aren’t you like, covered in scales and shit? How are you looking human?”

“Because I can appear as either.”

“Do you have feathers?”

“Yes.”

Dean thought about that for a moment and asked, “But I thought dragons just had scales?”

Cas smirked— _son of a bitch!—_ and shook his head. “Some of us have scales and feathers. Like the dinosaurs. And human lore on dragons is, understandably, patchy at best.”

“Are you going to eat me?” Dean looked around for something he could use as a weapon, there was nothing.

“No. I don’t eat people. Not my kind of thing.” Cas shrugged.

“What is your kind of thing, then?!” Dean demanded.

“Books. Fine furniture. Good coffee.” Cas licked his lips. “Treasure too. That one’s kind of universal with my kind.”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What’s the deal with the damn ghost?”

“Jack? Oh, he had an unfortunate death here… it’s complicated, but for some reason never passed over.”

“So you’re a dragon, but you can’t get rid of ghosts?”

“Flames can only do so much,” Cas replied, eyes flicking up to the sprinklers set high above in the ceiling.

Dean’s gaze followed Cas’s. “That why you’ve got such a good fire system, hm?”

“Yes.”

Cas stepped out around the bed, moving towards Dean’s corner. “Look, Dean, I am no threat to you.”

Dean dove out of the corner and spotted his boots, he grabbed them and dashed towards the doorway leading out of his bedroom. He rushed out of his rooms and out into the corridor beyond, then made for the stairs. He took them two at a time, legs pumping all the way as he did. In less than a minute, he was outside in the cool morning air, trying to unlock the Impala. But he couldn’t find his keys.

“Looking for these?” Cas asked, holding the keys out to Dean we he patted down his pockets for the millionth time.

Dean grabbed the keys and with shaking hands, tried to open the door.

“I understand that you want to leave, but please understand, I didn’t know you would be able to see Jack or really sense him. Most people can’t,” Cas explained.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Dean griped, still trying to get the key to work in the lock.

“I know.”

Dean dropped the keys and cursed as he accidentally kicked them under the car. “Dammit!”

“Do you have to go?” Cas pleaded.

Laying out on the gravel to get the keys, Dean fumbled under the car and finally hooked them before scrambling to his feet.

“Dean, at least have breakfast first?” Cas pleaded. “Please.”

Taking quick breaths, Dean whipped round and thrust a finger at Cas. “You lied!”

Cas tilted his head to the side in thought and then straightened up. “I omitted.”

“Still not okay, Cas!”

“Well, I’m sorry. I underestimated you.” Cas shrugged and turned away. “If you want to leave, leave, but I’m still going to make breakfast and fresh coffee.”

Dean watched Cas walk away and back into the hotel.

***

The smell of crisp smoked bacon and coffee hit Dean’s nostrils as he trekked into the hotel kitchen and made for the counter where he and Cas normally ate breakfast. While Dean had been warring with himself and all that had happened, Cas had been busy cooking breakfast for both of them.

Dean had been half-way to Sam’s before turning around and coming back to The Ddraig.

“Would you like coffee with your breakfast?” Cas asked, back to Dean as he finished plating up the bacon. There were two plates waiting with scrambled eggs on it. There was also a pile of cooked spinach and button mushrooms, and a plate stacked with cinnamon toast. More than Cas could surely eat all to himself— _maybe a dragon could eat all that?_ Dean pondered ruefully as he stepped further into the kitchen.

“I could go for coffee,” Dean said as he waited for Cas to ask why he had come back into the hotel. Why his freak out seemed to be over or why Dean wasn’t somewhere else across the city.

“Cream, one sugar, yes?” Cas asked as he approached the vintage, Gaggia coffee machine that took pride of place in the kitchen.

“Sure,” Dean said exasperated and sat down at the counter they had set up as a breakfast bar. Perched on a stool, Dean tried to figure out how he was meant to handle knowing that not only ghosts were real, but dragons too. _And that probably means more B movie specials are real too_ , Dean thought.

Cas set a cup of fresh coffee down beside Dean and then a plate of food.

“Thank you.” Dean’s mouth watered and he picked up the fork set at his place.

Sitting down opposite him, Cas similarly picked up his knife and fork and started cutting into his food. They both ate in silence, Dean’s mind whirring with how their next conversation was going to go. _Perhaps this is all just some elaborate joke and he’s just the same old, weird housemate I had when I moved in at the start of the week?_ Dean considered, but the memory of Cas’s shadow was clear in his thoughts. The way his neck had stretched out and those wings! _He’s huge!_

Setting down his knife and fork, Cas pushed his now empty plate away and picked up his cup coffee between his hands. “So.”

Dean finished his last mouthful and set his plate aside. He picked up his cup of coffee. “So.”

“You’re still here, I notice.”

“I am.”

Cas took a sip of coffee. “May I ask why?”

Dean licked his lips and glanced around the kitchen. _Because I don’t want to end up on a psych ward…_ “Because, Sam wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Your brother?”

Dean nodded.

“Why wouldn’t he have believed you? You see ghosts after all. Hear them and feel them too.”

Dean laughed and took a deep breath. “Because I’ve never told Sam that I can see dead people. One other person in the whole wide world knows… my friend, Charlie. And that’s because I helped her with a haunting once. Well, as far as I could, which wasn’t much.”

“How’d you help?” Cas asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Got her to move the LARP she was running.”

“What’s a LA-RP?”

Dean gave a small chuckle and said, “Live Action Role Playing. You pretend, with a bunch of other people, to be fictional characters and you sort of make believe at playing those characters. Like, I’m this fighter who’s skilled in swordplay and a few other things. I’m Charlie’s ‘handmaiden’ in game. She plays a magic and sword wielding queen. We act as our characters, fight monsters, party, solve puzzles—it’s pretty fun.”

“Monsters?”

“Yeah, monsters… like dragons.” Dean shrugged.

That bought a laugh from Cas before he continued more seriously, “But your brother doesn’t know about your gift?”

“Gift? Curse, Cas, _curse_. I see stuff no one else does. Hear stuff. Feel stuff no one else does. I’m always one move away from going full _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ if I say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Hell, I don’t even tell my therapist I can see ghosts. And if I say the truth to Sam… I could never lie to him and say something like, it turned out you played Celine Dion all night or whatever—Sam’s going to see through that eventually. And then I’ll crack, say the wrong thing and, yeah. Goodbye life. Hello, three square meals with a side of pills and all the pudding I want.” Dean slumped over the counter top.

Silence stretched between them for several moments as Dean’s brain continued to whir through what it would be like to be institutionalized for speaking the truth. Eventually, he sat up and took a long sip of coffee.

“Cas, if ghosts _and_ dragons are real… what else is real?” Dean asked, giving voice to his earlier thoughts.

Cas set his coffee cup down and gave Dean a thoughtful look. “Vampires, werewolves… sirens. Uh, fairies. Shifters. Ghouls…” Cas paused, looking toward the ceiling and then back to Dean. “Merfolk, kelpies, wendigos—pretty much anything, bar aliens. It’s all real.”

“So, why don’t people know about them?” Dean asked, head spinning a little at the information.

“Because humans have a great habit of ignoring the obvious or making up stories of their own. And there aren’t as many of us as there once was. Our numbers have been sharply declining since around the start of the medieval period. I think the last time I spoke with another dragon was maybe some two hundred years ago.” Cas drained the last of his coffee and got up from his stool to begin tidying away.

Dean may have not been running off to Sammy, but he still wasn’t comfortable staying at The Ddraig. “Must be lonely, but look—why is there a ghost here?”

Cas set down the dishes by the sink and leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I believe that he is here, because of a spell gone wrong. Normally, when the remains are destroyed, so is the ghost. And he was cremated, from what I could figure out at the time. But a trace of him remains, because of a spell.

“You see, further into the east wing, there are energies that I can’t quite control or fathom. In fact, I can’t actually go quite near them. That I believe is where the spell was cast, or they tried to cast it. Jack was likely a sacrifice to power the spell.”

Dean paled. “A sacrifice?”

“Yes. Witchcraft and so forth is also real, though practitioners are few in number.”

“Why would someone cast a spell you can’t interact with?”

Cas looked away, lost in thought for a moment. “I believe they thought they could trap me and make off with my hoard. That is a guess. I didn’t really have much to go on when the spell rebounded on them and threw them from my home.”

“Huh, okay.” _Wait, hoard?!_ “You have a big pile of treasure, like Smaug in _The Hobbit_?”

Castiel’s lips curled at that and he snorted. “Something like that.”

“And you’ve been trapped in the hotel since this all happened?”

“Yes.”

“But your nails?” Dean asked, puzzled.

Cas gave Dean a sad smile. “The lady who used to do them for me, she passed away a year ago, old age. My nails aren’t normally as long or as hard as what you experienced.”

“Seems to me that we need to find a way to unbind both you and Jack from the hotel.” Dean stood up and took his dishes to the sink.

“Yes, though, I had been wondering… I mean, it’s silly, now that I’m saying this out loud…”

“Get to the point, Cas.” Dean set the dishes down and waited in front of Cas, the distance between them more like friends than freaked out human and understanding dragon.

“I heard, long ago, that there was a spell that could bring back someone from the dead.”

Dean whistled and stepped over to the counter by Cas, leaning against it. As he stood there for a moment, feeling Cas’s warmth. “I mean, I didn’t even know magic was real until today and you’re saying that’s a possibility?”

A wistful look stole over Cas’s face. His eyes went big as he looked out ahead, across the kitchen, his voice taking on an almost reverent whisper as he spoke. “Much is possible, but few know how to use it. The practitioners who tried their luck and robbed Jack all those years ago… were nothing of real substance. They were like mice playing at being kings.”

“And so the spell backfired on them and you?”

“Yes, and Jack was killed for nothing.”

Dean turned to Cas, and at the same time that Cas turned to him. Castiel’s eyes threatened to swallow Dean up and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn away as the air between grew warm with their breaths. Dean licked his lips and Cas’s eyes flicked down to track the movement and then flicked back to Dean’s gaze. Maybe it was the rush of emotions that Dean had been through in the past twelve hours, the horror, shock, surprise and earth shattering revelations, or the simple fact that Cas—with his any every which way hair, piercing azure eyes, just right stubble and what was clearly a well defined body underneath his slacks and shirt—was sexy as fuck, but Dean didn’t want to move out of Cas’s space.

Eventually, some part of Dean’s actual brain kicked in and he broke eye contact with Cas, swallowing hard as he did.

“We should check with Jack if he wants to be returned to the land of the living or not. Otherwise… we should find out if there’s a way to send him on… or whatever.” Dean casually slipped away from the counter and started heading towards the main doors out of the kitchen.

“Of course,” Cas replied, voice thick. “And perhaps free me of being bound to the hotel?”

“That too.” Dean stopped by the swing doors. “Hey, um… my brother, Sam, asked if he could come by and check out the place this weekend. Is that okay? Clearly not going to invite him over to talk with our resident ghost, but uh-”

“Dean, you are welcome to have guests whenever you want. Though yes, it’s probably best you don’t tell Sam about the ghost, for that matter, or that I am a dragon.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean muttered as he nodded and headed out.


	10. Chapter 10

“How is it no one can find this place, it’s huge!” Sam exclaimed as Dean pulled up outside The Ddraig in what had become his usual parking spot.

Dean had showered and changed since his series of minor heart attacks. He’d even gotten some more sleep and then called Sam, asking if he wanted to come over. Dean had almost expected Sam to invite Eileen, but apparently she was teaching a Saturday art class. So Dean had headed on over to Sam’s, feeling a small twinge of regret mixed with frustration when he’d seen the place and then dampened down the moment Sam had gotten in the car.

“Right? Anyway, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Dean cut the engine and got out of the car.

“Okay. Anything I need to know before I head in? Like, is anyone else living here?” Sam asked as he got out of the car.

Dean’s jaw twitched a fraction. “Nah, just Cas and me.”

“I’d say cozy, but this place is _huge!_ ” Sam exclaimed again.

“You said that already,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He led the way from the drive up to the main doors and opened them.

Sam audibly gasped as they walked inside, the towering, elegant front hall and foyer, with its perfect everything clearly making Sam’s inner interior designer freak out. Dean smiled as he led Sam to the sunroom, where Dean had learned Cas liked to spend much of his time during the day. Knowing Cas was a dragon, it had finally made sense to Dean— _after all, he’s still just one big lizard_. Though Dean knew Cas was more than that.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean called as he saw a tuft of Cas’s hair on the other side of his favorite chair. “Alright if Sam and I come in?”

Cas, unlike their first meetings, stood from his seat and turned to greet them with a smile on his face. He’d also changed, and was now dressed more softly, in a pair of distracting washed out pale blue jeans, a baggy gray band t-shirt for The Strokes (which Dean would be having words about) and a pair of pool shoes.

“Sam, it’s good to meet you,” Cas said, holding a hand out.

“Likewise, Castiel,” Sam greeted, taking Cas’s hand. Dean noticed Sam wince ever so slightly as Cas gripped Sam’s hand and Dean wondered what the hell that was all about.

“It’s just Cas, thank you,” Cas said.

“Cas… it is.” Sam winced.

A moment later the handshake was over, and Cas turned back to his seat. “I’ll leave you to your tour, I’m sure you’re eager to see the rest of The Ddraig.” He picked up the latest novel he was reading—the fifth book Dean had seen him devour that week.

“Right, yeah,” Dean said, motioning to Sam to follow him. They headed out of the sun lounge, Sam shaking his right hand out as they did.

“Guy’s got a strong grip,” Sam said in a surprised voice as they made their way over to what would be the main desk.

“Has he? Huh, I didn’t notice,” Dean said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “C’mon, this way,” he said, taking them towards the dining room and the kitchens.

“And his hand was really warm too.”

“Well, he has been hanging out in what’s probably the warmest part of the hotel.”

“I suppose.”

“C’mon, you have got to see the coffee machine in this place,” Dean said, changing the subject, hopefully.

***

Dean saved his rooms for last. He unlocked the door and herded Sam inside.

“This is a lot of space,” Sam said looking up and around.

Dean stayed by the door, leaning against the wall there. “Yep. Gonna take me a while to get some furniture together, but I’m alright for now.”

“Say, I didn’t get you a moving in present. Is there anything I could get you?” Sam asked. “This is like an entire apartment, and then some, to fit out.”

Dean gave Sam a thoughtful look. “Well, I don’t have a table and chairs or anything like that.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I was thinking of mostly trying to have a look in Goodwill.”

“Okay.” Sam faced Dean and gave him a sad smile. “Eileen’s, uh, looking to start moving in next Saturday.”

Dean made a “not bad face”, completely non-committal. He would be happy to just leave that conversation there. “Cool, lemme know if you guys need anything moved. I’ll be working until three, but I can help after.”

“Dean…” Sam started.

_Oh, here we go._

_“_ I need you to know that you’re still welcome at the house. Okay. And I appreciate that you finding somewhere so fast means that Eileen and I can live together so much sooner, without her having to worry about her own lease coming to an end.” Sam put a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing. “You’re still my brother and I will be there for you, whenever you need me. I know a lot’s happened in these past few years… and I’m still here to support you, no matter what.”

Dean’s throat felt tight. “Thanks, Sammy,” he managed.

“So… what’s the ensuite like?” Sam asked with a cheeky grin.

Appreciating the change in topic, Dean led the way to his bathroom, as they walked from the living room, to the bedroom and then to the ensuite. “You would not believe the size of the bathtub or the water pressure I get in the shower. It’s amazing.” Dean opened the bathroom door.

“Heck, Dean, you could fit two people in that tub! That’s a small pool!” Sam walked in and goggled at the space.

“Just need to find someone to share it with,” Dean observed to himself but Sam heard him.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Sam said. “Speaking of,” he looked back to Dean, “how are things in-”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “We are not talking about my damn love life!”

***

Sam declined an invitation to dinner by Cas when it came time for him to leave, so Dean found himself spending his first Saturday evening in The Ddraig watching Castiel cook in the hotel’s cavernous kitchen. Ten years ago, before he moved away to be with Cassie, if Dean had the shift off, he would have been out trawling bars back in Lawrence. Finding a lay had been easy and Dean knew he still turned heads—he was reminded of it almost every shift at The Bunker. He’d only let up on the drinking a bit when he’d gotten together with Lisa, but then he found himself finding excuses to head out when their fighting got too much.

 _How times have changed_ , Dean thought as he watched Cas place freshly rolled pasta sheet on a lightly oiled counter top and then slice the pasta by hand, the blade of the bone handled knife snicking through the sheet with ease. Dean was in awe that Cas could cut the pasta so precisely without a mechanical noodle cutter. The lines were even and straight, leaving no pasta to waste. On the few occasions Dean had tried making his own noodles, he’d needed to use a cutter to help him cut the pasta.

“How do you do that?” Dean found himself asking, breaking the companionable silence that had settled between the two of them.

“Practice,” Cas murmured as he scooped the lines of noodles up and added them to a pot of boiling, salted water on the stove. The sauce Cas had made from scratch, tomatoes chopped and sieved by hand, simmered pleasantly beside the water pot. Looking at Cas’s long fingers, Dean wondered what the claws of Cas’s dragon self were like—the shadow of the night before giving only the barest hint. And then he just looked at Cas’s very human hands and found his mind quickly wandering off elsewhere.

“I bet,” Dean muttered.

“I spoke with Jack today,” Cas said as he took a moment to stir the sauce. “He asked that we see if we can find a way to bring him back to life. Of course, I suspect the binding magic involved will also need to be undone if he was to leave the hotel as well.”

Jogging his mind back to their preternatural problem, Dean frowned. “Where do we even start looking for information on that sort of thing?”

“I’ve trawled my personal library many times before, but perhaps there is something I’ve missed? Perhaps with a fresh pair of eyes on things we might find some hint somewhere that will lead us to a previously hidden footnote.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “Are you telling me that you need me to read a bunch of old books?”

Cas stopped stirring. “Hm, now that you say it like that, that would likely be insufficient. I assume you only read English?”

“Uh, yeah… and some Spanish.”

“We need a way to look at these books that’s not just me. I am almost blind to their insights now.” Cas took the sauce off the heat and set it to one side. There was a ping and he reached down to the oven, opening it and sliding a tray of garlic bread out.

“WOAH! WATCH IT!” Dean yelled. “YOU’LL BURN YOURSELF!” Dean slid off his stool and rushed over to Cas, ready to see badly blistering skin.

Cas set the tray down on a trivet and Dean grabbed Cas’s left wrist, pulling his hand towards him. He was expecting the worst, but instead, as he looked Cas’s hand all over and stroked his fingers down Cas’s palm, Dean found no welts or blisters. There was nothing to show that Cas had just taken something from a very hot oven and held it with his bare hand.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, “I am fine.” He made no move to pull his hand away from Dean’s.

“But, the tray,” Dean said pathetically, not letting go, meeting Cas’s eyes.

“Dragon, remember.”

“Right.” Dean huffed out a breath, cracking an awkward smile.

Cas licked his lips and Dean found himself looking down to those pink lips, slightly chapped, and wondering just what they might taste like.

“Dean…”

“Cas…” The two of them were impossibly close, their bodies leaning in towards each other as Dean continued to hold Castiel’s perfectly fine hand in his own, his thumbs pressed into the flesh of Cas’s hand.

The hissing bubbling sound of water cascading down the side of a pan made Dean let go and Cas jump away as he went to rescue the noodles. Dean stood back as Cas went to rescue the noodles and then went to drain the water, using his hand as a colander to stop the noodles slipping into the sink. In Dean’s chest, his heart hammered at what had almost been. Legs a little unsteady, he headed over to where he knew the plates and rest of the crockery they used was kept, and pulled out two pasta bowls and side plates. Dean set them down on the side so that Cas could plate up as Dean grabbed the side salad and some cutlery and headed into the dining room.

Setting a place for Cas at the head of the table and one to the right for himself, Dean tried not to think too much on what had almost happened. It was entirely possible he was picking up on the wrong signals— _he’s a dragon for chrissake! Dean! Get it the hell together!_ But Dean didn’t really believe it.

Once they were seated with food, conversation didn’t move beyond passing each other things as they plated up and ate. Trying not to focus on the kiss, Dean tried to pull his thoughts back to the conversation they had been having before the garlic bread. Having someone to read and analyze all the books Cas had would take time and mean bringing other people into their circle. Somehow, Dean didn’t think that would go down well.

“How many books do you have on this stuff anyway?” Dean asked, realizing too late that he’d provided no context. “I mean, books on magic and stuff.”

“Oh, the library has some six hundred tomes. Maybe more than a thousand? I haven’t counted in a while.” Cas tore off a piece of garlic bread and nibbled at it.

Dean’s brow creased in thought. The number of books sounded far more than what Dean had seen in Cas’s rooms earlier in the week. “There’s over a thousand books in your rooms?”

“No, the library. I’ll show you after dinner.”

Dean just nodded to that and continued eating. They finished their meal in silence and didn’t say much to each other as they cleared their dishes away. Back in the kitchen, Dean got a beer from the fridge and offered one to Cas, who took it with a “thank you” and then led Dean back through the hotel. They started towards the foyer, but then Cas stopped in front of a doorway that Dean hadn’t really noticed before. It was closed and Cas drew out a key on a chain from around his neck and unlocked the heavy set dark lacquered doors. He pushed them open and Dean followed Cas inside.

The high ceiling of the dining room was here as well. The room was packed with bookshelves on the floor and along the walls, all the same dark lacquered wood of much of the hotel.

“This is the library.” Cas walked to a bookcase in front of him, setting his beer down on a small table beside it. “I have books from all over the world here, in dozens of languages, including many ancient ones.”

“And you’ve read all of them?” Dean asked in awe, placing his beer on the table.

“Yes, every single one. But I still haven’t found anything that can help Jack and myself.” Cas sighed.

Dean stepped up beside Cas and placed a reassuring hand on the small of Cas’s back. “I’m sure, together, we can think of something.”

“I hope so,” Cas said. They stood like that for a moment, just looking at the books and then Cas turned, stepping into Dean’s space.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, bringing a hand up to Cas’s face and cupping his cheek.

Cas looked at him with questioning eyes and Dean gently pulled Cas towards him, bringing their lips together. Aside from the tang of tomato and garlic, Cas tasted of cinnamon and smoke. The kiss sent heat through Dean, making his toes curl in his boots as Cas returned the press of their mouths. The kiss was over all too quickly and Dean wanted to press back in, but he held back as Cas met his gaze again.

“We should stop,” Cas said in a voice that suggested that was far from what he wanted. “Only this morning you… were having a crisis over what I am.” He stepped back, getting out of Dean’s space.

“Right.” Intellectually, Dean knew this was the better course of action the day he’d had. But it didn’t make Castiel’s rationalizing any easier to accept.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Cas said and that was Dean’s cue to leave.

“Um, I’ll have a think about how we can get someone else to read all these books.” Dean grabbed his beer and headed off, retreating back to his rooms.

Back in the safety of his bedroom, Dean couldn’t think. He was laid out on the top of his bed, feet on the headboard, shoes off, an LP of _Led Zeppelin III_ playing and all his mind wanted to focus on was the deliciousness of Cas and just everything about him. The door to his rooms were locked and Dean had to give up fighting his imagination and hormones.

Snaking his right hand down his chest and towards his pelvis, Dean cupped his growing hardon through his jeans and squeezed, making himself gasp and buck up into his own hand. He was like a horny teenager again, the way he couldn’t get Cas out of his thoughts as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down along with his boxers. Gripping himself, pre-come already beading at the tip, Dean could smell his own arousal as he took an experimental stroke, pumping his cock as it filled further. With a moan, Dean scooted off the bed, quickly undressing himself and finding his bottle of lube tucked into his night stand. Pumping a few dollops of the sticky white liquid onto himself, Dean took himself in hand again, and scooted up against his head board, resting against the pillows as he stroked.

He thought about the sharp strong lines that Cas had. The way his jaw would feel great rubbing against Dean’s neck or the soft skin of his chest and thighs. What those long fingers of Castiel’s would feel like on him and inside him. Dean moaned at such thoughts, though still quietly enough that someone walking in the hallway outside wouldn’t hear him. He thought of those fingers teasing him open as he tried not to lose himself too soon, being good for Cas and waiting, because Dean had an idea of what was between Cas’s legs, and being impaled on Cas? The idea of it was enough to send Dean over the edge as he shook and came all over himself, spurting and stroking until he was too sensitive to touch himself anymore.

Gasping for breath, Dean lay on the bed and took a moment to allow his thoughts to form some coherent whole again. Eventually, Dean looked down himself and at his hand, and decided a shower was needed. Wiping up with some Kleenex, Dean headed into his bathroom and took advantage of the incredibly amazing water pressure.


	11. Chapter 11

Beneath Dean’s hands, the top of the side board he’d picked up from Goodwill, slowly lost its terrible orange paint job and revealed the original turn of the century oak beneath. It was nothing special, but Dean thought it would be a good place to store board games and tabletop gaming supplies, in case he wanted Charlie and the gang over. It was Dean’s Saturday off again and it was feeling like the days were flying by since he’d moved into The Ddraig just two weeks ago.

“You don’t think the giant squid in the moat was too much, right?” Charlie asked as she lounged on a musty old couch that Bobby had set back in his workshop.

Dean took a moment to think back to their Dungeons and Dragons session the night before and considered how tough the squid had been. “Just right. Fair challenge just as we thought we were high and dry.” Dean grinned to himself.

Charlie rolled her eyes and got up from the couch. “So, when are we going to have a session over yours?”

“When I have some more furniture. Case in point.” Dean waved his hand over the now not so orange sideboard.

“We could bring some pillows and bean bags to sit on?”

Dean thought about it. “Maybe, but it’s a long time to spend sitting down on the floor. Maybe Cas would let me use the main dining room? Place is huge. Big tables. Plenty of chairs. I could, like, cook us all up something. Maybe make some homemade gumbo or something? Benny shared his recipe with me a few weeks back.”

“I like the sound of that!”

“I’ll ask Cas what he thinks.”

Charlie went back to the couch and dragged her laptop over to herself. “Good stuff.”

The sound of typing filled the workshop and Dean turned back to his sideboard project. Contemplating what grit level of sandpaper he was going to need for the wood once it was dry, Dean wanted to make sure everything was smooth and ready for staining. Just as he started looking at the selection Bobby had stashed in a drawer, Dean’s thoughts stopped as he looked back to Charlie. He stared at her until she stopped typing.

“What, is there something on my face?” Charlie asked, touching her skin.

“No. Hey, look, weird ask, but do you think it would be possible to scan a bunch of old books and like, try to translate the copies of them? Maybe even search for specific words?” Dean asked as an idea formed in his head.

“Sure, it’s possible. Why?”

***

Later that afternoon, Dean returned to The Ddraig and went to find Cas. Not finding him in the sunroom or his rooms, Dean pulled up Cas’s number on his cell and hit dial.

“Cas, where are you?” Dean asked the moment the call was picked up.

“The east wing, why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“You’re welcome to come here or I can come to you if you’d rather?” Unsaid was the insinuation that Dean wouldn’t necessarily want to be near Jack.

But if they were working so hard to bring Jack back and unbind both him and Cas from the hotel, Dean decided that it would be right if he were to at least get to know the ghost—the young man—before they tried to bring him back from the dead. All Jack had done to Dean, after all, was just say “hello”.

Dean let out a slow breath and said, “I’ll come to you.” He ended the call and pocketed his cell.

The doors to the east wing were open and Dean entered, making a conscious effort to keep his own fears in check. _Jack’s not a mean ghost out to scare me or anything_ , Dean kept repeating to himself until he reached the ballroom. When he did, he saw Cas through the open doors and in the dimming daylight, Dean could see the markings on the floor that he had missed when he’d last been here at night. And then his vision focused and he could see Jack too, standing in front of Cas as they conversed.

Jack’s pale form shimmered as he stood in front of Cas, the air in the ballroom that touch colder than the rest of the hotel. Dean stepped into the ballroom and both Jack and Cas turned to Dean.

“Dean,” Cas greeted.

Dean smiled at Cas. “Hey.” He held up a hand in greeting to Jack. “Hey, Jack.”

“Hello, Dean,” Jack returned holding his hand up as well.

“You said you had something to talk to me about?” Cas asked.

“Yes, I think I have a way for us to look through all your books,” Dean explained. “So we can help both you and Jack.” That got their attention, so Dean continued. “My friend Charlie, she’s a computer whiz, and she thinks it would be possible to digitally scan all of the books in the library and match it up with existing translators. And those we don’t have? We could probably build out ourselves. It’ll take some time, but it would make everything more accessible…”

Dean paused and caught his breath.

“There’s a but,” Cas said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how big of a but, but Charlie would need to come here to help with it. And… to make it easier she would need to know what we’re up to. Because then she’ll have an idea of how to help us frame searches when everything is scanned.” Dean looked hopefully at Jack and Cas. “Well, what do you think?”

“This Charlie, she’s the one who already knows you can see ghosts?” Cas asks.

“Yeah.”

“And she’s never told another soul about this?”

“No one. Not even her longterm girlfriend.”

Jack stepped forward, bringing his chill with him. “You think she can help?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, I really think she can.” He looked to Cas. “We could also help her with the scanning.”

Looking away, Cas became lost in thought. Dean waited, staying where he was and trying not to stare too much. It was kind of difficult and the tension between them had yet to have any further discourse after Cas had stopped the other week. Noticing Jack looking between them, Dean averted his gaze completely. The conversations between the Dean and Cas for the past two weeks had been many, but none had talked about the ways either of them looked at each other. And for as much as Dean caught himself looking at Cas, he kept catching Cas looking at him when he didn’t think Dean would notice.

“Please ask Charlie to help… If Jack is amenable to her knowing about him. I… I will also tell her of what I am.”

***

The following Monday evening, Charlie was driven to The Ddraig to commence Operation Scan All The Things. As Dean pulled up in his parking space, Charlie was already ogling the building beyond the car, mouth hanging ajar.

“The rental photos didn’t do it justice,” Charlie said as she got out of the Impala.

“It’s pretty awesome,” Dean agreed.

“You need to let us play here some time, and you know, actually LARP.”

Dean locked the car and led Charlie towards the entrance. “We’ll see.”

Leading Charlie to the library, they met Cas inside and he and Charlie shook hands.

“Charlie, it is good to finally meet you,” Cas greeted.

“Likewise, Dean’s been making heart eyes about you whenever I see him.”

 _Oh damn! Had I been that obvious?_ Dean gulped, worried about how Cas might take that observation, but Cas just smiled and stayed on topic.

Cas waved a hand at the shelves of books that towered around them. “My library. This is what we’re looking to scan and translate.”

“This is some collection,” Charlie said a little breathily. “There, uh, anything you’re hoping to find out in particular?”

Dean didn’t realize he was doing it, but he placed himself between Charlie and the door out of the library, in case she decided to run like he had.

“How to bring a ghost back from the dead, and free them and me from the hotel. I can’t leave,” Cas said simply, arms wide.

“Wait, what?” Charlie looked back to Dean. “Sorry, did he just say something about resurrecting the dead?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Oh…” Charlie looked back to Cas. “I, uh…”

“I know if the spell is here, but I have so many rare treatises, spell books and tomes of lore there may be something here that can help. And while I can read all the books here, I have tried for thirty years to find an answer and failed.” Cas smiled.

Dean could feel Charlie doing the math. Cas looked to be in his late thirties as it was.

“But that’s not possible. And why can’t you leave the hotel? Dean said you’re agoraphobic. You can leave if you get the right treatment,” Charlie said, voice getting a little higher.

“Unfortunately I can’t. I’m bound to this place. Much like the specter I hope we can help.”

“You’re not a ghost.”

“No. I am a dragon, bound here by magic.”

Charlie snorted and turned sideways so she could look between Dean and Cas. “Haha, great joke Dean, but you can stop now, okay. Seriously, there’s no need to make up some convoluted story to make me take an interest in scanning some books.”

“Not a joke, Char,” Dean said calmly.

Charlie huffed nervously. “Where’s the ghost?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Trapped, in the east wing.”

Charlie giggled nervously. “And you expect me to believe that Castiel here is a dragon?”

“I assure you, I most certainly am,” Cas said in a commanding voice as half the lights in the room blew out and the shadowy extent of Cas grew impossibly behind him, smothering the books behind him. His voice boomed, otherworldly. “Please help us.”

Charlie winced, backing towards Dean. “Just cheap tricks.”

And then there was a whoosh as Cas moved from where he had stood and to the doors out of the library, almost as if he had teleported there or moved with unimaginable speed. His true shadow continued to linger on the walls and shelves.

“Cheap tricks?” Cas’s voice bellowed as Charlie turned around. Dean blinked and suddenly it wasn’t Castiel the human in the room with them, it was Castiel the dragon.

Cas’s long, feathered neck flowed towards the ceiling, while his long tail snaked along the floorboards. His wings were set against his back, the feathers folded down and out the way. And Dean was able to finally see that Cas’s front legs, head, neck and wings were covered in golden-black feathers, while the rest of him was blue scales. He had claws that looked like they were doing little for the floor, and as he shifted, Cas scored the wood beneath him.

Charlie did what Dean had done the first time. She fainted and Dean only just caught her in his arms. Dean was just about ready to join her himself, considering that seeing Cas’s shadow was many steps beyond seeing his actual dragon form.

“Really, Cas?!” Dean griped, the sudden weight of Charlie in his arms making them ache.

Cas shrugged as his shadow and body formed back into its human size and shape. “She’ll believe when she wakes up.”

“She better do, after giving us both a heart attack, because there’s no way I’m learning ancient Greek or Latin to help with this mess.” Dean hefted Charlie into his arms in a bridal carry and shifted her out of the library and in the direction of a small lounge close by.

Setting Charlie down on a long cream couch, Dean stood up and asked Cas to go get some water. It took some splashing and soothing sounds, but eventually, Dean roused Charlie from her faint. Though she started to yell when she saw Cas.

“He’s not going to hurt you!” Dean yelled over her. “If he wanted to eat anyone, he could have done it to me when I first stepped foot here. And he hasn’t touched a hair on my head!” _At least, not to harm me._

It took some more calming words and a strong cup of sweetened tea to eventually persuade Charlie to believe that Cas was very much what he claimed to be and that he wouldn’t eat her. Then the questions about other supernatural beings came and Dean gave her the same talk that Cas had given him the other week. After the talk, she seemed calmer and more accepting of the impossibility of everything.

During her second cup of strong tea, Charlie agreed that she would help them.

***

“That could have gone better,” Dean said, wiping a hand down his face when Cas greeted him upon his return. Dean had dropped Charlie back at her place. She’d met Jack as well once she’d been calmer and that had gone better than Cas’s reveal.

As he stood in the main entrance, Dean felt a weariness that made moving his legs difficult. Before he knew what was happening, Cas had swept him into a bridal carry and proceeded to take him upstairs. Dean protested at first, but then felt himself comforted and lulled by the heat radiating from Cas.

“Mmm, so sleepy,” Dean yawned as conscious thought struggled to be a thing he was capable of. There was a tenderness in the way Cas held Dean, bundling him tightly against his chest.

Dean fell asleep between the first floor and his bedroom, but woke when Cas had laid him out on Dean’s bed and was removing his boots, slowly and carefully, trying not to wake him. He wondered what it would feel like to have Cas’s feathers brush over his skin.

“Dean, thank you,” Cas said, but Dean didn’t really hear Cas as he slowly drifted to sleep.

Sat on the bed beside Dean, Cas stayed still as he continued to speak. “Before you came, I thought I would be trapped here for eternity, which when you’ve had a near eternity of freedom, is a cruel thing indeed. So, thank you, for all of your help.

“I’ll try better the next time I really meet one of your friends. You’re right that there was no need for me to be so… abrupt. And I’ll try to do better by you. I know I pushed you away and that we’ve been dancing around each other these past weeks, but, well, you’re the first I’ve felt drawn to in a long time, and I didn’t think I would ever again, quite frankly. Still, I am drawn to you Dean and I think you’re here for a reason… after all, you’re the only one who can find The Ddraig without help. It must mean something. I don’t believe in so many coincidences. Do you?”

The bed shifted as Cas stood up. Dean grumbled about being cold and Cas covered him in a comforter.


	12. Chapter 12

If Dean didn’t have to handle another book after all of this, he could die happy—at least that’s how it felt after he closed up the tenth book he’d scanned that Friday evening. Dungeons and Dragons had been canceled because Dorothy had a bad cold and Charlie didn’t want anyone else catching it. Foolishly, Dean had supposed that making further headway on scanning Castiel’s library was a good idea. Further along, on a different row, Cas was helping him, scanning another section of books.

What had been over a thousand books to begin with, Cas had managed to sort through, with help, to the ones mostly likely and likely to have information around what they were after, getting the total down to 400. But a lot of the books weren’t short and it could take some time to scan pages and verify they were okay, before handing them over to the database and translation program that Charlie had set up for the project. The three of them had put a lot of work into the project since Cas’s big reveal, with much of their free time dedicated to shifting through dusty tomes.

Putting the latest scanned book onto the shelf for books he’d scanned, Dean felt his cell buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Sam was calling him. Dean was a little surprised to be getting a call from Sam so late, and hoped nothing had happened to him or Eileen.

“Hey Sammy, what’s up?” Dean asked and was immediately greeted with a “that’s not my name” complaint— _no one dying then_ , Dean thought with a chuckle.

“So, look, I’ve been thinking, you know what we haven’t done in like a million years? Halloween party. A big one. Costumes. Food. Booze. The works. Like when I was 17,” Sam rushed out. “You know, that big ass party we had when Mom and Dad went away to see Gram and Grandpa Campbell?”

If there was a list of things Dean didn’t really expect to be getting phone calls about from Sam, this was one of them. “That was the first time you got drunk. And if I remember correctly, I had to hold your hair out of the way while you spent a good half hour throwing chunks over the back porch.”

“Dean! Just, look, The Ddraig is huge. It’s perfect. It would be amazing.”

“Why do you want a party all of a sudden?” Dean asked. Cas had stopped scanning by this point and wandered over to Dean. Which was fine, except for the distracting way that the sleeves of Cas’s dress shirt were rolled up.

Sam huffed out a breath. “Because I miss you and I think it would be great.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “How about I put the hotel owner on the phone, huh?”

Cas looked at Dean with shocked eyes as Dean put the call on speaker and held the cell in the palm of his hand.

“Cas is here on speaker. So, not sure how much you could make out, Cas, but Sammy here wants to use The Ddraig for a huge ass Halloween party.” Dean shifted. “He wants a big party. All our friends. Booze. Food. Costumes. What do you think?”

“Uh…” Cas struggled to find something to say.

“It wouldn’t be as big as Dean’s trying to make out. Not like we need catering big. But what about if we have a potluck and people bring their own drinks? We could hire a DJ. Have like a prize for best costume. Just good friends. Set up in the dining room… what do you think?” Sam asked breathlessly.

“Well, Sam, you seem to have thought about this a lot…”

Dean mouthed at Cas “no he hasn’t”.

“And if you were to be the one to organize it, I don’t see why we can’t have a… shindig with yours and Dean’s closest friends.” Cas mouthed to Dean “it sounds fun”.

“Excellent! I’ll come round tomorrow so I can check what we need to plan for! Thanks, Cas. Look I need to go now, but tomorrow… so long as Dean meets me. Bye!” Sam hung up.

Sliding his cell back into his pocket, Dean gave Cas a long appraising look. “What makes you think that this is a good idea?”

“I haven’t been to a party since New Year’s Eve, 1979.” Cas crossed his arms over his chest. “And I think I deserve a party too.”

Dean gave Cas an appalled look. “Fine, you deserve to party. But we should probably find a way to at least make sure people can make their way here without me having to drive every single person. Or else I ain’t getting to drink.”

Cas smiled. “Okay, Dean. We’ll find a way to ensure your inebriation. We just need to find the right spell to pull down my own wards for a while.”

Dean turned to the laptop that was set up on a table and chugging away data to the server Charlie had set up.

“Yes,” Cas caught on, “we could add another ‘search query’ to the mix,” he said with air quotes and a smile. Dean looked at that smile and felt his stomach turning at the sheer beauty in front of him. It had been weeks since their kiss, and still Cas was keeping his distance. He wanted to reach out and touch Cas’s face, but he held back, because he didn’t want Cas to pull away. Even though he might not.

“I’ll get right on it,” Dean said and headed over to the laptop, mentally kicking himself as he did. He got the search query up and running, wondering what the hell a dragon would wear to a Halloween costume party. His time in The Ddraig had taught him many things about the supernatural world, but not their predilections for human activities.

“What do you think you’ll go as?” Dean called as he headed back over his pile of books to scan.

“I was thinking I might go as an angel.” Cas picked up another book to scan as well.

“Not a dragon?”

Cas gave Dean what could only be described as a death glare.

“What about you?” Cas eventually asked.

“Dunno, maybe like some kind of demon, if you’re going as an angel? Not that I have any idea what a demon would like.”

“You should get some horns,” Cas nodded sagely and Dean didn’t want to look into that any further.

But something about the “wards” was making him wonder at how he seemed to be the only one unaffected by them. It wasn’t until he’d finished scanning two more books that he set down the hand reader and walked over to where Cas was just finishing yet another book.

“Cas,” Dean asked, voice quieter than he’d intended.

Spinning round to look at Dean, Cas’s eyes grew wide and Dean saw how close he’d come up to Cas, but he didn’t take a step back. Cas gave Dean an awkward smile and an inquiring look.

“What is it?” Cas asked.

“Cas, why don’t the wards seem to work on me?” Dean gave Cas a pointed look.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know or won’t say.”

Cas huffed out an exasperated breath. “I honestly don’t know.”

Dean couldn’t see a lie, so he just remained where he was, because he wanted to be that close to Castiel. “Cas…”

“Dean,” Cas reached out and touched Dean’s arm lightly, “You’re tired. I’m tired. Perhaps it’s time we call it a night, hm?” Without waiting for Dean, Cas bustled away and started leaving things in order for when anyone next started to scan.

Dean took his time getting to sleep that night.

***

Dean found himself being chased by messages from Sam. There was no respite, even when the two of them were meant to be busy at their respective jobs. The planning session on the previous Saturday had only led to Sam running away with ideas and letting them multiply like rabbits. The only details Dean cared about was his own costume, what food he was going to prepare and getting everything together for easing the wards on the hotel—which involved him getting photos of all the guests and plus ones they expected. He was planning on printing out profile pics from Facebook, but Charlie didn’t have a Facebook and so he needed to get her to provide something for them to use.

The usual mid-morning Tuesday crowd flicked through newspapers and sipped their drinks as Dean finished putting the latest load of grounds in a used beans bag. Looking up from the bag before sealing it, he caught Garth staring at him weirdly from the corner of his eye. He turned and looked at his boss.

Garth had been somewhat moodier than usual since the start of the week and that had surprised Dean, because Garth was never moody. He figured something was going on with the secret someone he hadn’t told anyone about, but Dean didn’t want to pry. _Oh, there goes another pencil,_ Dean thought as the sixth pencil that week was snapped in half by Garth. _Okay, so maybe I should talk to him_.

Facing Garth, Dean smiled and asked in a voice only Garth would hear, “Is everything okay?”

Open ended, simple, perfectly innocent and as committal or non-committal as Garth wanted to make it. Dean’s eyes flicked to the broken number two pencil poking out between Garth’s fingers and Garth looked from Dean down to the dismembered pencil in his hand.

Garth set the pencil down on the counter top and then braced his hands on it, pushing down and leaning back, bowing his head as he worked to get air. It was plain for all to see that Garth was stressed—but Dean had seen the books for the shop the last few months and he knew for a fact that it couldn’t be due to issues with The Bunker. So, Dean kept his distance and waited, keeping an eye out for any approaching customers and allowed Garth some space and the chance to speak.

Just as Dean was about ready to get on with the next task that needed doing, Garth whipped his head back and stood up, a pained look on his face.

“I can’t stand it anymore, I need to take the rest of today, maybe tomorrow off.” Garth grimaced. “Sorry, Dean, but I think you need to ask Aaron to come down early.” Garth reached for his apron and untied it.

“You not feeling so hot?” Dean asked. Garth never took sick days.

“You could say that.” Garth flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles.

“Need me to get you anything after my shift?” Dean asked.

“No, don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Garth said, sounding the exact opposite of fine.

Dean didn’t push things any further, but he called Aaron as Garth got ready to leave for the day. Sorting orders for the odd customer who came in and clearing tables as they freed up, Dean kept an eye on Garth as he made the usual checks he would make before heading off on one of his pre-agreed breaks, where Dean and Aaron would be in charge for days at a time.

Ten minutes later, Aaron was on his way and Garth was ready to head out.

“Remind Aaron that Benny’s coming by with cakes not long before closing. One of you needs to make sure that the display case is ready for them. Oh! And it includes the new chocolate banana muffin recipe Benny’s trying out. Plus some more batwing cookies and spider mallow balls…” Garth took a breath. “I’m sorry Dean… I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Dean frowned at that. “Hey, don’t you worry. Aaron and I have got this covered. You go lie down, take some aspirin or something, you hear me?”

Garth nodded eagerly and hung his apron up on the peg it usually stayed on. “I’ll let you know if… if I can’t make it on Friday.”

Before he would leave the shop, Garth started checking the beans in the grinder and in the end Dean had to shoo him out. As he watched Garth walk down the street, Dean tried to remember if he’d ever really seen Garth so out of sorts. He was still trying when Aaron arrived in the store, ready to help out.

Aaron gave Dean a wink as he pulled on his apron, making Dean blush. The two of them didn’t work together often, and it was usually Aaron that worked the late afternoon to closing shift.

“Don’t worry about heading off as normal,” Aaron said as he finished tying his apron. “Ron has said he’ll come in to work with me. He doesn’t have any classes this afternoon.”

“Great. Garth said Benny’s swinging by before closing.” Dean finished making up the latte he’d been making before Aaron’s arrival.

“Noted. Say, Garth never gets ill.”

“Right?”

***

Sun getting low, Dean drove over to Garth’s place after his shift ended. He had a skinny chai latte and slice of banana bread—Garth’s favorite menu items—in hand and he walked up the yard to Garth’s house, hoping that he wasn’t about to wake Garth from a nap. He resisted the urge to jump into a pile of raked leaves that Garth had left and got to the front door. Knocking with the hand holding the brown paper bag of banana bread, Dean listened for any reaction from indoors.

Nothing.

Dean knocked again, a little louder this time, fully intent on having the goodies for himself if Garth didn’t answer. Still nothing. There was no other sign of Garth, except for his beat-up Ford Ranchero Squire that was in the driveway. Deciding the loot was his for the taking, Dean started to head back to his waiting Impala and then he heard it.

A low, muffled growl. Like a dog waiting menacingly behind a front door. Dean was pretty sure Garth didn’t have a dog.

Walking back up to the front door, keeping his footsteps light, Dean listened again and heard another low growl. But it wasn’t coming from the front door. Stepping to the right of the small porch, Dean followed the growls and headed around the side of Garth’s house. The growling continued and grew to its loudest as he reached one of the basement windows.

Setting the chai latte and banana bread aside, Dean knelt down and peered through the murky glass, past the bars that covered the inside. In what light there was filtering into the basement, he saw an outline of what looked like Garth, topless and straining against a set of thick iron manacles. Only his arms seemed thicker, and his fingers ended in wicked curling claws. Another growl and then a visible deep sniff, and whatever was in the basement turned and looked to Dean as he peered in through the window. Its pupils were pinpricks, irises a bright yellow, and its teeth looked like long sharp fingers of white enamel, ready to rip someone’s throat out.

The creature snarled and strained towards the window Dean was standing by. Dean got to his feet and backed away, forgetting the treats he’d brought with him, and headed for the safety of the Impala. Dean’s hands shook as he unlocked the driver’s side and slid in, and he wasted no time in starting the engine and pulling away to somewhere without snarling creatures in possession of wicked looking teeth.

Going into autopilot, Dean drove the busy roads of Sioux Falls as the working day began to end, and allowed his mind to be completely blank. He drove to The Ddraig, finding it with no effort and parked up like he normally did. It wasn’t until he cut the engine that he remembered he hadn’t put a cassette on or the radio like he normally would.

***

Dean took his time, sat in the car, brain churning more than it had when he’d seen the whole of Cas for the first time. Cas he’d known for only just over a month, but Garth? He thought he knew Garth. Thought Garth was awesome and had a secret beau he didn’t want anyone to know about. But all of a sudden, the monthly trips started to make sense, because if Dean accepted that the creature in the basement had indeed been Garth, then he also needed to accept that those trips were Garth becoming that… whatever it was, and hunkering down in the basement.

Dean jumped as Cas knocked on his car window. It was dark now and Cas was wrapped up in a blue knitted sweater, something even in the light spilling from the hotel entrance, he was sure went well with Cas’s eyes.

“Dean, is everything okay? You’ve been out here a very long time,” Cas said through the glass.

Dean didn’t respond and was dimly aware of Cas walking around the car and getting in on the passenger side. Cas closed the door and the _clunk_ of metal made Dean jump again.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas persisted. He reached out and placed a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder. Slowly the heat from Cas’s hand started to warm Dean, and he felt like he was being dragged out of an icy lake of confusion.

Shuddering, Dean continued to face out the windscreen as he said, “Went to Garth’s after my shift today.”

“To his house?”

“Yep.”

There was a pause and then Cas asked, “Did something happen at Garth’s house?”

“There was something in the basement... I think it was Garth.”

“Why do you only _think_ it was Garth?” Cas asked, voice sounding puzzled.

Dean glanced to Cas and met his concerned gaze. “Well it had his shape and hair… But it had big sharp teeth and claws. And it snarled… growled… like a really angry dog.”

“Today’s the October seventh, yes?”

“What? Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Cas gave a thoughtful, calculating look, eyes darting towards the roof of the Impala and then focused back on Dean. “It’s a blood moon tomorrow,” he said, like that explained everything Dean had seen.

“A blood moon?”

Cas nodded. “Yes… they can cause unexpected changes in… werewolves. Even when it’s not yet a full moon.”

“Garth’s a werewolf?” Dean asked in a high voice, bordering on hysterical. “An, honest to god, _werewolf?!_ ”

“It appears so.”


	13. Chapter 13

Dean prided himself on always being on good terms with Garth. But after finding out his boss was a werewolf? Garth coming in for his first shift since Dean had last seen him, a quiet run-of-the-mill Sunday by any other measure? Dean had the worst poker face. Which was difficult for him, because normally he had the best of poker faces.

Charlie trying a half-shaved bob look—best poker face. Sam trying out cooking meatballs for the first time—best poker face _and_ an iron stomach. Garth’s silver earring in the right ear phase—concern and best poker face. But that silver stud took on a whole lot more meaning in hindsight, when Dean considered it, because what had been passed off as it getting infected and healing over meant something else now.

Castiel had given Dean the down-low on all things werewolf that he could recall. Silver. Phases of the moon. Feeding on hearts. No cure that he knew of. Dean had talked him through it with understanding patience, while making sure Dean drank a cup of tea to help soothe his nerves (Dean would have preferred something stronger). The only reassurance Dean had was that Garth liked chaining himself up in his basement, which indicated he didn’t go around and try devouring human hearts on the regular.

“Do you think we’ve got enough banana bread?” Garth asked, voice normal, no inflection like he was insinuating anything that said he knew Dean had been to his house on Wednesday.

Dean studied the loaf and-a-half that remained. “I’m sure we’ve got enough.” _He’s been a werewolf for at least ten months_ , Dean concluded as he moved to serve a customer who wondered if they did some form of pumpkin spice latte—they did and it wasn’t sickening like big brand ones.

The whole shift passed like there was something invisible between Garth and Dean, and Garth was visibly puzzled by it. Each time he tried to start conversations with Dean, Dean struggled to remain his useful cheerful self. When there was a real lull in the afternoon, Dean knew Garth was going to try talking to him.

Garth opened with, “Hey, Dean, can we talk?”

Setting down the cloth he was using to clean the counter, Dean gave Garth his attention, resisting the urge to cross his arms across his chest like he was trying to protect his organs. “Sure.”

Garth looked to the door, saw no one and smiled warmly at Dean. “Look, something has been up with you all day and I really can’t put my finger on it. Is everything okay? You settled in alright at your new place?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine there. It’s great.”

“Because I am looking forward to the Halloween party!” Garth grinned and then his face went serious. “So, what’s up?”

Dean looked around the shop, making sure no one remained who might overhear them. “Garth, I went by your place on Tuesday, after my shift.”

Garth gasped and the color drained from his face.

“I wanted to drop off a care package for you. You’re like never sick, y’know. I was really worried,” Dean continued. “I heard some noises coming from the basement. So, I went to investigate and, and…”

Dean lapsed into silence, unsure how to keep going. Garth didn’t fill the silence either, like he knew what Dean was about to say and had given himself over to the inevitability of where the conversation was heading.

“Garth… I know you’re a werewolf.”

Garth didn’t say anything, he just stood there in shock. Dean hurt to see the look on Garth’s face and decided to steer him to one of the nearby tables and sit him down in a seat. Then he fixed two chai lattes and slices of banana bread and set them down in front of Garth and joined him.

“So, Wisconsin?” Dean guessed, thinking of the trip that had led Dean in charge of the store with Aaron for a few weeks, rather than days.

Garth came to a bit and slowly nodded. “Wisconsin.”

***

Even after talking things through and reaching an understanding, it took over a week for Dean to feel comfortable around Garth again. Part of his discomfort was Garth not feeling like he could come to Dean about what had happened to him, but then Dean hadn’t even said anything about being a medium so it wasn’t like he was without fault. He wanted to tell Garth, he just wasn’t ready yet.

And while Dean navigated his new relationship with Garth, helped scan Cas’s private library, fixed furniture up and generally tried to get on with his life—Sam was there in the background, and increasingly forefront, plotting a Halloween bash that sounded like it was for a hundred people, not their close friends and their partners. In all, Dean estimated that about thirty to forty people were going to visit The Ddraig, photos for the ward spell changing here and there. When it finally came to the afternoon before the party, Dean cornered Sam and got the last few names from him, while helping Sam get decorations from a local party supplies store.

Dean didn’t need to get anything for his costume, he’d finished working on that the weekend before, but the store was doing good business as last minute Halloween purchases were rung through the checkouts at alarming speed. Tailing behind Sam, Dean sent an email from his cell to Cas, with details of who the remaining guests were and links to their Facebook profiles. Cas was in charge of finishing the spell, Dean was in charge of making sure Sam didn’t kill his bank balance.

On the way back to The Ddraig in Dean’s car, the back piled high with decorations along with the trunk, Sam kept talking about the food Eileen had been busy cooking for the party ( _thank the lord,_ Dean thought) and trying to find out from Dean what his costume was. To which Dean would reply, “You’ll find out tonight.” From the need for fake blood, Dean knew that Sam was swapping his plaid and jeans for a vampire costume.

Approaching The Ddraig, Dean could tell the moment Cas cast the spell, because as Dean approached the street it was on, Sam gasped.

“Woah, did you guys cut the hedgerow or something?” Sam asked as The Ddraig came into view from the side of the road.

“Yeah, we did,” Dean lied.

“Wow, I think I’ll be able to actually find the place now.”

This was the effect that the tweaking in the wards was meant to enable and Dean was glad it was sorted in time for the party. Parking up, Dean and Sam proceeded to shift the decorations from the car to the dining room. Piling everything up along one of the shorter walls, Sam then helped Dean move the tables and chairs into a buffet area and then one of the smaller tables for the DJ they had hired.

Working away to get things set up, and finding a ladder they could use for some of the higher pieces, Dean was a little surprised that Cas hadn’t come and found them to say hi or to help. He sent Cas a text between cobweb installations, but after twenty minutes of hearing nothing back, Dean went looking for him, leaving Sam to continue decorating with the promise he wouldn’t use the ladder until Dean was back.

Searching the sunroom, kitchen, basement, library and Cas’s room, Dean couldn’t find Cas. Running out of places to look as he stood in the middle of the foyer by the front desk, he turned to the doors for the east wing. They were open by several fingers and Dean could already feel a sense of foreboding steal over him as he approached.

“Cas?” Dean called through the gap, but heard nothing back.

Then Dean’s skin went icy cold and the hazy form of Jack appeared in the doorway.

“Dean! You’re finally home! Please come, it’s Cas,” Jack said, voice sounding several levels detached from the living.

Worried, Dean headed on into the east wing and followed Jack towards the ballroom.

“I don’t know what happened, but I think he might have pronounced a word wrong when doing the thing with the wards?” Jack hypothesized just as they reached the ballroom.

Jack went through the near closed ballroom doors and Dean opened them to follow. As he stepped into the space, his vision was filled up with the sight of Castiel—only he was his dragon self and not looking at all like a human.

“Cas, what happened?” Dean called up to Cas.

Ducking down to get eye level with Dean, Cas huffed a warm breath at Dean and with his big blue eyes, gave Dean a look that could only be described as “kicked puppy”.

“Is Jack right, did you say something wrong with the spell?” Dean tried.

Cas gently moved his head up and down on his long neck.

Dean searched around and found the little altar Cas had built for spell work, a pile of photos beside a bronze bowl. He looked over the notes that Cas had scribbled down in his tight cursive and figured out what he hoped was how to reverse the spell. Dean started to get ready, putting some fresh herbs and lamb’s blood in the bowl.

And then Sam shouted from behind him, “What the hell?!!! DEAN?!!”

Spinning round as Cas lurched behind him, Dean saw Sam standing in the ballroom, the color drained from his face, eyes wide open. Jack appeared behind him and somehow closed the doors, loudly, making Sam jump and turn to see Jack.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?!” Sam screamed, on the verge of hyperventilating as he backed away to a wall, keeping everyone in view.

Dean licked his lips. “Well, Sammy,” he said, as calmly as he could muster, hands out in front of him, palms raised up, “that’s Cas,” he motioned to Castiel, “and uh, that’s Jack,” he motioned to Jack. Then for good measure, he added, “And I’m like psychic or something. Have been for years and see ghosts on the regular.”

Sam’s mouth opened, but no sound came out as he slowly slid down the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Dean promised, but the look Sam gave him didn’t say he believed Dean.

Silence, punctuated by Sam’s rapid breaths and Cas’s shifting bulk filled the air.

Not wanting Sam to go running off, but very aware of the fact that Cas needed help, Dean turned to Jack and said, “Keep an eye on him, will you? I need to finish the spell.”

“Sure,” Jack answered.

Heading back over to the altar, Dean picked up the reverse incantation and went through it. One awkward word of Latinat a time. As he finished, the air felt charged with electricity and then there was a popping sound. Dean set the notes down and found Cas was human again.

“Oh my god!” Sam shouted hoarsely.

“Not quite,” Cas said in his gravelly voice.

Dean and Cas approached Sam, Jack at their side, and looked down on his shaking form. For a moment, Dean almost wished Sam had passed out, but he hadn’t.

“What is he?” Sam hissed.

“Cas is an actual, living and breathing dragon,” Dean said in a calm, reassuring voice.

“And him?” Sam asked, shaky finger pointing at Jack.

“A ghost. Jack’s a ghost, Sam.”

Sam swallowed, wild eyes not daring to look away, lest he become some kind of monster chow. Dean sighed and dragged a hand over his face, trying to figure out what the game plan was for this. Or if there even was a game plan.

“I’ll fetch tea,” Cas suggested.

“Yeah, you do that,” Dean agreed.

It took another hour for Sam to calm down, robbing them of valuable setting up time. But Dean took it as a good sign when Sam offered to take part in the scanning exercise when he was free next. Eventually, the three of them left the east wing, the wards adjusted correctly, and shut Jack away safely, locking the doors behind them, making sure the warning notices were visible. Cas even found some barriers to set up in front of the doors as well.

***

“Another?” Ash asked, holding out a beer to Dean, but Dean shook his head, feeling the slight wobble of his curling, purple demon horns. After what had happened, and the fact that Dean didn’t trust himself to drink too much these days, Dean had opted to stop at three bottles of beer and switch to club sodas for the rest of the night.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Dead said as he surveyed the dining room. Their party guests were busy getting down to the tunes being busted out by the DJ who Dean did not know, but appreciated the varied selection he was going for.

Dean had counted: three mummies (of varying accuracy), six werewolves (including Garth choosing to have a joke at himself and dressing up as one—no accuracy there), three fairies (Dean had no idea what fairies might look like), one Banshee (Eileen, who was bopping along to the bass she could feel thrumming through the room), five witches (which included Charlie), Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz (as portrayed by a cold-free Dorothy), two pumpkins (including Kevin), three ghosts (including Jo), one old school devil (that was Ash), two Frankenstein’s monsters, and finally Cas as an angel and Dean as a demon. Bobby had declined the invitation for the party and was, as far as Dean could tell from Jo, off having a scary movie marathon with Jo’s Mom, Ellen.

Castiel’s angel outfit included a halo fashioned from a coat hanger and spray painted gold, black and gold wings that looked a lot like his own, a tunic and a small harp. Meanwhile, Dean had used Bobby’s workshop to mold a pair of horns for the demon costume using resin. His clothes were just a nice, charcoal suit he had. A purple tail poked out the back, attached to a belt loop, covered by the back of his suit jacket. Their costumes were holding pretty well together, three hours into the party.

Looking over to Cas, Dean felt a surge of affection as he watched Cas sign with Eileen and Sam, having a full conversation. But while Dean was happy for Cas to be making friends, he had kind of hoped that he might be able to get a dance with Cas. _Should I go over?_ Dean considered, wondering how to get Cas to dance with him. Then the first few notes of “Barracuda” by Heart started playing and Dean felt his own head start to bop.

_Dammit,_ he thought, quickly heading over. He tapped Cas on the shoulder.

“Yes?” Cas asked, turning.

Dean made a hasty decision on how much cheese to lay on and asked, “May I have this dance?” holding his hand out as he.

A grin stole over Cas’s face and he placed his hand in Dean’s.

“Sorry guys,” Dean said to Sam and Eileen, taking Cas towards the dance floor that had been set up, with spooky disco lights flashing over the space. Cas deposited his harp beside the floor and followed.

Pulling his hands away, Dean started to dance, nodding his head in time with the music, letting his arms and legs groove along to the rhythm and Cas did something similar. Then Dean reached out and pulled Cas close as a second song came on, not necessarily a slow dance song (it being “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin), but it was getting late and Dean wanted Cas with him.

“Dean,” Cas hissed, but didn’t break away.

“Please, can we, just… dance. Like this, for a while?” Dean begged.

Cas softened and pulled them closer, and the rest of the room melted away for a while, as Cas’s arms wrapped around his and Dean rested his head on Cas’s shoulder.

“Cas, I know when we first kissed, you didn’t want to go further, because I’d just found out about you. But I’m still here Cas,” Dean said in Cas’s ear, so he could hear him over the music.

“I know.”

“I know you’re a dragon,” Dean continued. “Can’t we just, y’know, try? Like, how will we ever know if we can work, unless we try?”

Cas pulled away enough so that they could stare into each other’s eyes. “Okay, Dean, we’ll try.” He let go of Dean, only to pull Dean’s hand into his palm so he could lead him away from the party. Everyone else was either too tired or too buzzed to watch them go.

Dean wondered where they were going, until Cas pulled them into the safety of the library, closing the doors behind them. Dean didn’t get the chance to say anything more before he had Cas pushing him back against the wall beside the door, capturing Dean’s mouth with his own. Cas pushed his right leg between Dean’s thighs and continued to kiss him, while encouraging Dean to rut against him.

“Ah!” Dean yelped as his horns got caught in Cas’s halo, pulling at his hair.

“Sorry,” Cas apologized and worked to disentangle them, carefully removing his halo and then helping Dean to remove his horns.

Cas set the horns and halo on the floor beside them and then returned to Dean, claiming his mouth again with eager kisses and hands going everywhere as he got back into Dean’s space, once again pushing a leg between Dean’s thighs. Every shift of their bodies caused Dean’s growing hard-on to throb, and he could feel that Cas was similarly affected. Reaching out to Cas, Dean’s hand went to the fake wings he’d worn as part of his costume, and Cas shivered, breaking their kiss as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Cas, are you okay?!” Dean asked in a panic, pulling his hand away.

Cas let out a long breath, blearily opening his eyes. “Touch my wing again,” Cas said in a husky voice dripping with want.

Dean stroked his fingers through Cas’s feathers, the cool silkiness soft on his skin and Cas rocked towards him, eyes blown and mouth open in a breathy gasp.

In a corner of the room, the computer beeped loudly and jolted Dean and Cas from their heavy make out session.

“What now?” Dean groaned, pressing down on his hard-on as Cas stepped away.

Legs a little unsteady, the two of them walked over to the laptop that had been in charge of compiling book scans and translating them.

“Two good matches,” Cas said, sounding a little breathless.

They’d found two potential spells.


	14. Chapter 14

“And he’s like, not going to eat you, right?” Sam asked for what must have been the ninth time since Halloween and the big dragon reveal.

Dean rolled his eyes, not that Sam could see him, gripping his cell phone a touch tighter than necessary. Things he’d been hoping to do on his Saturday off: lie in until 10 and then make brunch for Cas before spending another day searching for spell components that were harder to find than Nazi gold. Not talking to Sam.

“He’s had plenty of opportunity and hasn’t, Sam,” Dean finally replied.

Sam sighed, and Dean imagined Sam putting his fingers to his forehead and closing his eyes, like he normally did whenever he was feeling slightly stressed out. By this point, however, Dean was getting tired of Sam questioning everything about Cas. He knew Sam only had his best interests at heart, but he was annoyed that Sam had seemed more concerned about Cas than the whole fact that Dean had been seeing ghosts for years.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Sam! Chrissake, man, I am pretty damn sure at this point. So, as we can fit everyone here, how about we have Thanksgiving here at the hotel. We have plenty of room in the kitchen.”

“What about Jack?”

Dean huffed and looked to the ceiling of his room, praying for any deity to give him strength. “Jack wouldn’t hurt a fly.” _And if we’re lucky, we might have brought him back to life_ , Dean thought.

Sam hummed and ummed down the line, his indecision and lack of faith driving Dean slowly mad, and eventually said, “Okay, Thanksgiving at yours.”

“Thank you. Now please, can you please leave me to the rest of my Saturday?” Dean thumped his head back against his pillows.

“Okay, okay. Talk soon.”

“Yeah, but not too soon. Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam snarked back and finally hung up.

Settling against his pillows Dean looked to the time on his cell and saw it was close to nine. There was no way in hell he was going back to sleep. Pushing himself out of bed, he headed into his bathroom and took care of business before brushing his teeth and getting in the shower. As the water pummeled across his neck and shoulders, Dean relaxed into its heat and tried to figure out if Cas would be up for breakfast instead of brunch.

“Dean?” called Cas from the bathroom doorway.

Dean jumped a little, but his shock was short-lived as he blinked away the water from his eyes and turned to look at Cas through the steamed up glass of the shower. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas’s blurry form stepped closer. “Um,” he called over the rushing water, “may I join you?”

Dean’s heart started thudding in his chest, and his dick took embarrassingly quick interest. He and Cas had been taking things slow since Halloween, just keeping to heavy make out sessions for the past two weeks, with Cas wanting to make sure they didn’t rush things. Dean had been ready to dive head first into the deep end, but that wasn’t the way with Cas.

But not once had Cas asked to shower with Dean and suddenly here he was, wanting to.

“Sure, Cas. Come on in,” Dean said, stepping to the side so that there would be enough room for Cas. He heard the rustling of a towel and then Cas pulled the shower door open and stepped inside.

Cas’s eyes swept over Dean, unabashedly, lingering on Dean’s hardening length as he did. “I hope you don’t mind,” Cas started, licking his lips as the spray dampened them, “I… couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”

Eyes going wide, Dean nodded dumbly as Cas made sure the shower door was closed. Then he stepped closer to Dean, pushing him under the water as he snaked a hand up and brought Dean’s mouth to his. The kiss sent a shiver of anticipation down Dean’s spine, making his dick throb. Kissing through the spray, Dean allowed himself to be pliant to Castiel’s touch as his hands stroked and caressed every available part of Dean. Smoothing down his arms, over his chest, across his buttocks, the touch slightly warmer than the shower.

Dean reveled in the contact, body hungry for Castiel’s touch. Hungrier than Dean realized, as he pressed into each point of contact and slipped his tongue into Cas’s mouth. He tasted the fresh mint of Castiel’s toothpaste, and felt the heat that was always there at the core of Castiel’s being.

As the kiss deepened, Cas’s hands became insistent in their exploration, every muscle had to be traced, every curve pursued and then as he trailed his hand down Dean’s front, Cas finally came to cup Dean’s aching length. Cas’s touch was curious as he brushed his hand down and then up Dean’s length, touch featherlight and teasing. Dean moaned into Cas’s mouth and chased the contact of Cas’s hand.

Then Cas shifted them so their bodies were slotted together, Cas’s length pressed against Dean’s. He pulled Dean into his arms as Dean pulled Cas into his and they thrust and ground against each other, their dicks slipping in the water as they rutted, sliding and pressing. Breaking for air, Dean’s mouth found Cas’s shoulder and he bit down in the flesh there, sucking as he did. Cas returned the bite once Dean was done sucking, head bending over Dean’s shoulder and mouth working the skin there, making Dean tingle all over.

Thoughts of Thanksgiving were washed away as Cas got them moving to a rhythm, the press and slide making them grunt and moan, sucking in huge breaths as they needily rubbed against each other. Dean had had blow jobs in showers before, but this felt infinitely filthier as he ground himself against Cas, chasing release. The heat emanating from Cas became even warmer and their movements more erratic as Dean felt the curl of an orgasm snaking through his guts.

“Cas,” Dean begged, though what he was begging for, he wasn’t sure, until Cas’s mouth found his again and Cas forced his tongue past Dean’s lips. And then Dean was coming, spilling in-between them, crying into Cas’s mouth and shuddering as he did. Then Cas whined, body shaking as he followed Dean.

Their spend washed off of them the moment they dared to pull apart. Dean looked up into Cas’s eyes, drawn in by how big they’d gotten. Cas pulled him close again and softly kissed his face and then mouth, before reaching for the soap.

“Want me to make breakfast?” Dean asked as they rinsed off.

“Mm, thought you were making brunch.”

“It’s too early for brunch now. I didn’t get my lie in.”

Cas gave Dean a sympathetic look before reaching over Dean to stop the shower.

***

Stack of pancakes beside him, freshly made blueberry syrup dripping from the top, Dean flicked through the auction listings he was looking at on his tablet. Charlie had set him up with a Tor browser, because what they were looking for was not available on normal, every day websites and more likely to be found in a corner of the dark net—a corner that happened to cater to practitioners of magic.

“Dean, your food will get cold,” Cas scolded, taking a bite of cake.

Dean looked at the pancakes, as if seeing them for the first time, and hungrily cut off a mouthful and popped it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “You could always warm them up for me again,” Dean teased.

Cas gave Dean a narrow eyed glare and Dean chuckled. Continuing to eat and browse, it was on the fifth page of the search he’d done on the auction site when he finally saw what he was looking for. A type of herb that only appeared in one part of the Italian alps. Praying that the order would come into the country with little trouble, Dean placed a buy it now bid and found his eyes watering at the cost of shipping the herb via a private courier flight. Thankfully, it was Cas’s money he was spending and not his own.

Once the order was confirmed, Dean turned the screen off and started back on his stack of pancakes, now cold.

“Cas?” Dean asked with pleading, soulful eyes.

Cas muttered under his breath and leaned across the counter, holding his right hand out over the stack, palm down. Dean watched as Cas closed his eyes in concentration and then opened them again, pulling his hand away as he did. The pancakes were nice and warm again.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean beamed.

Cas didn’t reply, just shook his head to himself and went back to the newspaper he’d been reading.

***

What Dean is learning about spells is that knowing components and what to say is easy, finding and/or buying components for spell work is hard. SO HARD. He kept being outbid by practitioners or those he suspects were rich criminals who wanted to eat highly forbidden food stuffs. As Thanksgiving approached, Dean started a new ritual in the mornings of monitoring their current bids while he made breakfast at the hotel, or got started in The Bunker. He wished that he could buy everything from the few magic shops he’d uncovered from some careful searching on Google on the regular net, but they just didn’t have everything.

So, when Sam came over on Thanksgiving morning, Eileen in tow, he found Dean with a laptop and a tablet, the tablet with his preferred recipe on and the laptop monitoring an auction for griffin feathers.

“Dean… are you buying drugs on the dark net?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

“Griffin feathers,” Dean corrected, rolling out the pastry for the pie base.

“Dude,” Sam started and then Dean picked up on the lilt of Eileen’s voice as she talked with Cas near the doorway to the kitchen.

“It’s Welsh, ‘ddraig’. It means dragon,” Eileen explained from just outside the doors. “For Irish Gaelic, it’s ‘dragan’, with an ‘a’ instead of an ‘o’ just before the end.”

“Do you speak either?” Cas asked as the two of them talked loudly.

“Some Gaelic. Have you ever been to Wales?” Eileen asked.

“Yes, though it was a long time ago now. In my youth,” Cas acknowledged.

Back in the kitchen Dean gave Sam a concerned smile. “Okay, so we’ll act mostly normal,” Dean’s eyes flicked towards the auction and he let go of the rolling pin to fist pump the air as he saw the message saying he’d successfully bid for the feathers. “Yes, normal.” Dean schooled his expression. “Would you close that for me?” He asked, pointing at the laptop.

“Sure,” Sam said, expression tight.

Eileen and Cas came into the kitchen and she beamed at Sam and Dean.

“It’s amazing here! I didn’t realize how big it was on Halloween. But in the day, it’s breathtaking.” Eileen looked around, her gaze taking in everything. “Oh! Are you making pie, Dean? Sam always says you make the best pie.”

“Yes I am and I do,” Dean gloated.

Cas worked on getting everyone coffees as Dean worked on pie, and then they all pitched in together to make the rest of the dishes for Thanksgiving dinner they’d eat later, taking advantage of The Ddraig’s industrial kitchen. Over the course of the late morning and early afternoon, more of their friends turned up, including Charlie and Dorothy, Ash, Garth, Bobby, Jo, Ellen and even Kevin, who hadn’t gone back home for the holiday. Everyone brought food ready to warm up, chill or make. The kitchen became a huge hub of activity, with Dean grateful that they had the space they did.

Eventually, Ash, Charlie and Kevin went to decorate the main table in the dining room and Dean found himself working in one corner of the kitchen with just Cas.

“I have not celebrated this holiday in several decades. Are we doing the whole saying something we’re thankful for as part of the meal?” Cas asked in a low voice, mashing yams like his life depended on it, which considering how much Ellen liked her yams it may have.

“We still do that,” Dean reassured.

“Good. I like that part almost as much as the food.”

Curious, Dean wondered quite what Cas was thankful for. “What are you going to say you’re thankful for?”

Cas looked at him, hand stilled, eyes big and full of centuries. “You.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest.

“What will you say?”

Dean wasn’t panicking because he didn’t want to be out about their relationship, but the idea of a creature as impossible and immense as Cas being grateful to have Dean in his life? It made Dean feel like he could never deserve such affection.

“Dean?” Cas whispered, keeping his freak out as private as possible in the busy kitchen.

Finally drawing in a breath, Dean swallowed. “The hotel. You,” he stammered out.

Cas smiled and leaned in, giving Dean a quick chaste kiss to this left cheek.

“I better finish these yams.”

“Yes, yes, you do that.”

***

After hours of work, everyone gathered in the dining room, the table set with so much food, Dean felt giddy looking at it. Everyone was smiling and chatting, an air of happiness, of family, gathered around. Dean was still on good terms with his own parents, but he appreciated the found family he and Sam had managed to gather to themselves over the years in Sioux Falls.

Cas stood up and held up a wine glass filled with a crisp Sauvignon blanc. “Welcome everyone. Thank you for coming here today.”

Everyone else raised their glasses, Dean’s was a glass of beer that Sam had picked. They toasted and Dean listened as everyone in turn gave thanks. And then it came to Dean before Cas. Time slowed and Dean tried to think how he would convey who he was thankful for. And then he settled on how. He reached across to Cas and grasped his right hand, holding it aloft in the air.

“I am thankful for Cas,” Dean said simply, gazing into Castiel’s eyes.

“And I am thankful for Dean,” Cas said before closing the distance and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

Several “whoops” erupted around the table and a smattering of claps. Dean was vaguely aware of Sam doing an embarrassed little brother groan. Once everyone had settled down, they got to eating. Dean couldn’t stop grinning the whole time.

***

Once everyone was sated, and the leftovers cleared away, they all gathered in the sunroom, which Cas had turned into a den for the day, wide screen TV included. Dean had his feet up on a foot rest, seated back on a couch that Cas had managed to dig out from somewhere else in the hotel—one of several couches and large arm chairs. What had surprised Dean, and excited him a little, was knowing that Cas had moved the furniture to the room all by himself.

Sam and Cas had supposedly gone back to the kitchen to get drinks and snacks for everyone as the third football game of the day was gearing up. Dean didn’t particularly feel like eating more, though would probably find room for extra pecan pie if given the opportunity. _What’s taking them so long?_ Dean thought as the game started. Hauling himself out of the comfy couch, Dean left the sunroom and stalked back towards the kitchen, ready to help carry things if that was what it would take to have the chance to cuddle up to Cas like a normal boyfriend.

A grumbling voice stopped Dean in his tracks as he stood beside the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. Rather than walk in, he stayed where he was and listened.

“I may be a dragon,” Cas stated, voice firm, “but I will not harm a hair on your brother’s head. How many times must I tell you this?”

“You understand that until just recently I had no idea anything like you… anyone like Dean or Jack existed. Right? It’s a lot to get my head around and I want to make sure my brother is safe,” Sam replied.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“I have only your word to go on here. It’s not like I can talk to anyone else to vouch for you.”

“Sam, Dean is perfectly safe with me.”

“You need to understand that I don’t just mean gobbling him up like some poor handmaiden. Dean’s been through a lot. Lost a lot too. I don’t want to see him go through something like that again.”

“You’re worried I’ll break his heart?” Cas asked in a surprised voice.

“Of course I’m worried you’ll break his heart. He seems fine now, but you didn’t see right after he left firefighting. Right after he left Cassie. You haven’t seen that part of him. So, if you ever cause him reason to feel that way, I want you to understand that being a dragon won’t help you. Understand?”

“I understand.”

Dean turned and walked away from the kitchen. When he’d first heard them talking, he’d expected Sam to give Cas just the usual talk, adapted for a dragon of course (not eating him being high on the list) but he didn’t expect Sam to feel that protective of him. At least not after asking Dean to finally move out. He had two people in his life now that wanted what was best for Dean, not for themselves, and Dean found he struggled to understand or accept that.

It was certainly something he’d be bringing up in his next session with Rowena. Dean would have to adjust some of the language he used, so that Cas’s dragon-self was mentioned, but he was getting used to that.

Eventually his feet brought him back to the sun lounge and everyone else. Dean took his spot on the couch and put his feet up, snuggling up to Cas when he and Sam finally appeared again, with drinks and snacks in tow.

“What took you both so long!” Bobby grumped, eagerly taking his bottle of beer from Sam. But neither Sam or Cas said why.


	15. Chapter 15

After the first week of December (and three shifts in a row covering for Garth as he spent a long weekend being a werewolf), it became apparent to Dean that unless they actually managed to free Cas (and Jack) from the hotel, then he wouldn’t be going back to Lawrence to spend Christmas with his parents. The rhythm he and Cas had established, the long evenings and weekends together, caught up in each other’s thoughts and activities was all too consuming to just spend a week or more away from Cas. Not that Dean knew if Cas felt the same way—he’d been too scared to ask.

Instead of fully admitting anything to anyone, even his therapist, Dean persuaded Sam to ask their parents to come out to Sioux Falls, and convinced Cas that he wanted him to meet his parents. He’d be coming out, though Dean knew his mom had always suspected something. His dad? Dean wasn’t so sure. Dean was expecting some form of emotional pain over the holidays he just wasn’t sure what yet.

And then there was Jack. The arrival of griffin feathers meant that they were finally ready to try and bring Jack back to the land of the living full time. Then stage two would be finishing getting the components necessary to get Cas and Jack free of The Ddraig.

December meant no Dungeons and Dragons for Charlie and her players because of the increase in social obligations beyond their own little group. And so, on the second Friday of December, Charlie came to The Ddraig to help Cas and Dean bring Jack back to life. This was despite Cas issuing all sorts of warnings ahead of time that the magic could go badly wrong and that none of them were hugely experienced practitioners of magic. Charlie had promptly pointed out that Dean was at just as much risk and anyway: the spell needed three people to do the chanting.

“I’m not so sure about this,” Jack said as Dean, Cas and Charlie worked to set up a bathroom in one of the empty hotel rooms that was just within the boundaries of the east wing. The bath was where the real ritual would take place.

“What’s there to not be sure about?” Dean asked as he stepped away from preparations.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Jack asked nervously, shimmering form rippling with ghostly energy.

“Then it doesn’t work... and we help you with whatever you decide after.”

“But what if it does work?”

That gave Dean pause. Jack hadn’t been living for thirty years. Everyone from his life had, from what Dean had found through research, moved on or died. There was no one left in Sioux Falls who remembered the young man who disappeared one night, only to be found dead the following morning. The only record of Jack that was official said officially he was dead. Despite all of this, Dean was pretty sure that between them, they could help Jack build some semblance of an existence again.

“Then you finally get to grow old and live your best life while doing it.” Dean smiled and wished he could pat Jack on the back.

“We’re ready,” Cas announced from behind them and Dean nodded as did Jack.

They turned off the lights and were left with the flickering candles around the bathtub. Taking their positions, Jack ghosting his way into the water filled tub, Cas, Dean and Charlie started to chant in a language that Dean did not know. As the unusually shaped words flew over his tongue, Dean felt the temperature in the bathroom drop and then tried not to lose his cool as Jack was pulled under the water as if by an invisible force.

They kept chanting for what seemed like hours, but it was likely only minutes as time seemed to be sucked out of the room. Without warning, the lights in the bathroom exploded, and the water in the bath foamed and boiled and then as if being raised on a dais beneath the surface, Jack emerged, naked and shivering and very real.

Dean averted his eyes and threw a towel around Jack, and then found himself hugging the young man along with Cas and Charlie as they all laughed with relief that the spell had worked.

“Wow, that was real magic,” Charlie observed when the three of them (with Jack dressed in some ill fitting sweats, t-shirt and fluffy socks) sat together in the kitchen an hour later, mugs of hot chocolate between their hands.

“It was,” Cas agreed, smiling.

Jack had already tried to leave the hotel and failed to do so, but he was still looking on the bright side. “So, now we know for a hundred percent that one of the spells found worked. We just need to finish getting everything for the one binding me and Cas here, right?”

Dean sighed. “Yep. God, I hope a Russian mobster doesn’t outbid me again the next time we try to get ground cockatrice beak.”

“Ground cockatrice beak?” Charlie asked.

“Supposedly it’s a thing. Or at least cockatrices were. The shit is really rare these days,” Dean explained. As if gathering magic spell ingredients was an everyday occurrence for him—which it pretty much was at that moment.

They chatted and moved from hot chocolate to whiskey eventually. At some point, Charlie and Jack left Dean and Cas alone in the kitchen—Charlie to go home to Dorothy, and Jack to the room they’d prepared for him, far enough away from Cas and Dean’s—and Dean decided his own whiskey wasn’t enough.

“Dean?” Cas asked curiously as Dean leaned into his space and kissed him. Then kissed him again, opening Cas’s mouth with his own, pushing into Cas’s mouth the whiskey he’d just sipped. Cas moaned low in the back of his throat as Dean chased the whiskey and then pulled Dean onto his lap so that he was balanced on the same stool as him. Dean had his arms wrapped around Cas as he sat on him sideways, exchanging kisses until Dean started to find the day catching up with.

“Come on,” Cas finally purred. He took Dean upstairs and put him to bed.

***

“We’re out of Cap’n Crunch… again,” Dean lamented, eying the empty box on the kitchen counter with immense suspicion. He knew Cas thought that the cereal was like coating his tongue with noxious molecules, so Cas hadn’t eaten their last box. Staring toward Jack, who was eating a bowl of Wheaties and trying to look like he was enjoying it, Dean found that the younger man was blushing, up to the tips of his ears.

“It’s fine, I’ll make sure to add it to the grocery order later,” Cas said.

Sighing to himself, Dean went and found the open bread and put some toast on before fixing himself a cup of coffee. The domesticity of the whole situation was almost making him feel sick, but it was countered with how much he was enjoying being around Cas like this. Like they were two people who organized groceries and shopping together like a couple. That Jack was there to witness all of this almost embarrassed Dean, but he tried not to think about that too much.

Cas shifted awkwardly as he stretched across the counter to pick up the jar of honey he’d set out and Dean turned to see him wincing.

“Everything okay, Cas?” Dean asked.

Opening his mouth to reply, Cas doubled up and then buckled down the side of the counter to land in a heap on the floor. Dean rushed from the coffee machine as Jack slid off his stool and they both ran to Cas’s side. For a brief moment, Dean thought some ill-effect from the spell work to help Jack had finally caught up with them, but then Dean looked down the length of Cas’s body, towards his feet.

There, poking through what had been an okay pair of leather slippers, were a set of long curling nails.

“Oh,” Jack said simply, taking a step back. “I didn’t realize it happened so sudden.”

Dean hadn’t either, because Cas had never described the process before. The nails weren’t as long as when Dean had cut them the first time, but as he tried to comfort Cas and hush him, he could see them growing longer out of the corner of his eye.

Now, Dean would have just offered to carry Cas to a seat and get his tools, but at that moment Sam had decided that he and Eileen should take advantage of the key that Dean had given him at the start of the month. The doors to the kitchen slapped open and shut and footsteps approached from the far side of the room.

“Dean, Cas, Jack?” Sam called out.

Dean popped his head over the counter top and was spotted by Sam.

“Hey, Dean we brought-”

“Now’s really not a good time!” Dean called back, but before he could conceal Cas’s freakishly long nails or anything, Eileen had rounded the corner of the counter top.

Her eyes went wide as she stared at Cas surrounded by Dean and Jack, and the nails protruding from Castiel’s slippers. Eileen felt no surprise at seeing Jack—they’d been introduced the weekend after Jack had been made flesh again, with Jack being dubbed a house guest and old friend of Cas’s who was staying at The Ddraig as he took a break from his college studies.

Sam came to a stop beside Eileen, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. While Sam had known about Castiel’s condition, he’d never actually seen what his nails could be like.

Cas was frozen beside Dean, discomfort coming off of him in waves.

“Look, could you all give Cas and me some space and leave,” Dean asked. “The sunroom is great at this time of day, even with the snow.”

“Right, of course,” Sam agreed. He gently tapped Eileen on the arm and signed to her what they were doing. She nodded and followed Sam out of the kitchen.

“You too,” Dean said to Jack.

“Uh, okay… lemme know if you need anything,” Jack nodded. “I’ll be in my room.” Jack hurried off.

Finally it was just Dean and Cas in the kitchen. Dean smoothed a hand down Cas’s back and asked, “Think you can stand?”

Cas shook his head in an empathetic no.

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna move you a little so you can lean against here…” Dean gently pushed and dragged Cas so he was leaning against the cupboard doors of a nearby counter. “And I’m going to go and get my tools. I’ll be right back.”

When Dean returned with the tools that had once been Bobby’s, Dean set up his power extension and started plugging in what he needed. Cas continued to sit with his back against the counter, eyes looking anywhere but at Dean. He looked sad and dejected, like he was embarrassed that his condition had sprung up on him like it had.

“You know you got nothing to be embarrassed about, right?” Dean said as he readied a pair of goggles over his eyes. “Like nothing.”

“But I couldn’t even warn you or anything. I couldn’t even get myself out of there!” Cas whined. “Now Eileen knows something is up.”

Dean settled on his knees in front of Cas’s feat. “I think she was going to find out something was going on at some point. She’s not stupid.”

Cas grunted and nodded. Pulling up a face mack, Dean settled Cas’s left foot on his lap and looked across to him.

“Ready?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

Without any further warning, Dean started to cut Castiel’s nails back down again and while doing it he wondered why Cas’s nails grew the way that they did. Working carefully at every single nail in turn, Dean slowly came to the conclusion that it was a little like how nails on pet dogs or cats worked. If nails don’t get worn down enough from everyday use and movement then the nails normally needed to be clipped.

_But then does that mean Cas needs to go around as a dragon more often than he does_? Dean wondered as he finished with Cas’s left foot. _But what about his fingernails?_ But then as he thought about that and how Cas used his hands a great deal, it made sense that his fingers were manageable.

Once Cas could stand again, they found Sam and Eileen, and Jack, and Eileen was introduced properly to Cas, Jack and Dean.

Eileen didn’t faint once.


	16. Chapter 16

“Are you sure, honey?” Mary Winchester asked, long blond hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head. She had on a red frilly apron, decorated with a cute repeating cross stitch design of reindeer. It looked at odds with the down to earth plaid, Henley and jeans combo she had on underneath.

“I’m sure I can ice the house myself, why don’t you get started on the eggnog?” Dean said as he got the icing bag ready.

Sam, Eileen, Cas, Jack and John were all in a den that Cas had set up in what must normally be a private reception room. So far, no one had killed each other, despite helping to put Christmas decorations up. It was Christmas Eve, and there was already a real Christmas tree in the hotel with presents underneath it. Stockings. A fireplace. Dean couldn’t quite get over how far they were pushing the Christmas thing, but with Cas and Jack having a lot of catching up to do with celebrating cheer and good will to all sentient beings, Dean had figured they should go for it. Everyone was staying at the hotel.

The gingerbread house was a foot high and the most ambitious creation Dean had ever made from baked goods. It had a chimney, windows, a door, even its own little footpath. He was in the process of adding the finishing touches and his mother kept hovering around him like he was about to make a fatal error any moment. It was frustrating, but he allowed it, because he hadn’t seen her in so long.

“John seems to like Cas,” Mary said apropos of nothing.

Dean stopped his approach to the chimney and looked over at Mary. “You… you think?” he asked, not sure if he was allowed to let himself hope for this to go in his favor.

“He could see how much Cas cared about you,” Mary reassured. “You know that’s all we’ve ever wanted for you, right? For you to find the right someone for you. And if Cas is that someone, then he’s a very nice someone.” Smiling, Mary leaned over and kissed Dean on the cheek and stood back. “Now, how about we finish this house, hm?”

Words failing him, Dean nodded and they worked together to get the house just so, finishing with a dusting of icing sugar. They used a trolley to wheel it out to the dinning table they’d be using the following day for dinner. When they were done, they cleaned up and joined everyone in the den, part way through a rewatch of the 90’s remake of _Miracle on 34th Street_.

Though for Cas and Jack it wasn’t a rewatch, it was their first time watching the remake. So Dean made sure no one spoiled the film.

It was so incredibly warm and nice and normal to sit on a couch with Cas watching cheesy holiday films together, though he was planning on putting _Die Hard_ on next.

And later that night he had one last gift to finish.

***

The east wing was silent and a little colder than the rest of The Ddraig as Dean slipped inside it. It was gone midnight and technically Christmas day already, but Dean wanted to make sure that Jack and Cas got their main present from Dean before they woke up in the morning. Heading to the old ballroom, which Cas was already planning on refurbishing in the near future, Dean hefted the bag he had slung over his shoulder and the lamp he carried on his other side. It was weighed down with spell ingredients and the props he needed for the spell that would finally unbind Cas and Jack from the hotel.

Neither of them knew that a PO Box in town had taken a delivery of the ground cockatrice beak earlier that day. Instead Dean had picked it up on his way to get John and Mary from the airport. But it wasn’t until everyone was asleep that he had been able to get alone to do what needed to be done.

Closing the ballroom doors behind him, Dean set down the lamp and began setting out what he needed for the spell. He was halfway through drawing a series of complex diagrams on the tiles and walls in chalk when Sam opened the doors and slipped inside.

“Dean?” He asked in a tired voice. “What are you doing?”

Glancing up from the obscure pentagram design he had just finished on one wall, Dean gave Sam a nervous grin. “It’s the final spell, Sam.”

“Final spell?”

“The one to unbind Cas and Jack from the hotel.”

It took a moment, but Sam’s eyes widened as realization and understanding finally came to him. “They’ll be able to leave?”

“Mhmmm,” Dean nodded, during one final marking on the north wall of the room. “This here is the epicenter of the original spell that ended up trapping them both here. I got the final ingredient for what we think is a counter spell, earlier before I picked up mom and dad.”

“Does Cas know you’re doing this right now?” Sam asked, voice taking on an uneasy tone.

“No, but… This one isn’t like the one we used to bring Jack back, there shouldn’t be anything dangerous that can go wrong.” Dean shrugged. “At least not massively so.”

Sam stared at him with big, worried eyes. “Something could go wrong?”

“Uh yeah. Magic’s not, like, a precise science or whatever.” Dean strolled over to the crystal he was meant to hold while burning the powdered cockatrice beak and a bunch of other ingredients in a bronze bowl.

“Dean, maybe we should go get Cas.”

“Sam, it’s just some Latin, trust me, we’ll be fine.” Dean went over to the bronze bowl, picked up a matchbox and struck a match before lowering the flame into the bowl and setting everything inside it on fire. He began to chant, holding out the crystal over the flaming ingredients.

He kept chanting the memorized lines and then the lantern behind them went out. A wave of eerie blue light pulsed out from the center of the room, flying through the air and through Dean and Sam and outwards through the rest of the hotel and its grounds. And as quickly as it had started it was over and the lantern flickered back to life.

“What was that?” Sam asked in a strained voice.

“That, Sammy, was magic.”

***

Dean led Sam back to his and Eileen’s room first. Then went to the floor he and Cas were living on. Sure, it was the middle of the night, but Dean quickly realized that he couldn’t wait until actual morning to give Cas his gift. He reached Cas’s room out of breath and knocked on the door several times. Eventually Cas came to the door, with his sleep tousled hair, and blearily looked at Dean.

“Dean, it is the middle of the night,” Cas pointed out in an unimpressed voice still groggy with sleep.

“Can you get some shoes and a jacket, I need to show you something,” Dean said, pulling his own down-filled jacket on.

Cas stared at Dean like he had grown two heads.

“Please, Cas, it’ll be totally worth it.”

Frowning, Cas left his door open as he went in and did as Dean asked. A few minutes later he was bundled up, thick jacket and boats, a knitted beanie on his head. He thrust a spare beanie, in red yarn, at Dean and made him put it on.

“Lead the way,” Cas said warily.

Dean, still with his battery powered lantern, led the way through the hotel and out through the front main doors. Snow was drifting down lazily from the night sky, the moon a thin sliver above them. They walked down the main driveway and past the now snow filled fountain. Their breath misted in front of them, steaming up into the frigid night air.

“Dean, what could possibly be out here? Surely you’d rather be in bed?” Cas grumped as he followed.

“You’ll see. Come on, keep up,” Dean said, finding it hard to conceal the excitement he felt.

They reached the gates at the end of the driveway and Dean reached out and opened them.

“Dean you know, I can’t go beyond the walls!”

Dean stepped beyond the hotel’s boundaries and beckoned Cas to follow him. “Cas, I think you can.”

A fresh frown creased Cas’s brow and then comprehension. He blinked hard and stepped forward, each step leaving him shaking as he got to the invisible line that marked the end of The Ddraig and the beginning of the regular street beyond. He took a deep breath and then stepped across the threshold and stood right beside Dean for a second, before taking another step onto the sidewalk. Cas looked around, astonishment clear on his face.

“You cast the spell,” Cas said breathlessly.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean declared. He was about to say something else, but Cas pulled Dean into his arms and proceeded to kiss all thoughts and air away.

When they finally pulled back to get some air, Dean launched a shower of snowflakes down the front of his borrowed beanie.

“Merry Christmas, Dean… Maybe we should go back inside?” Cas suggested.

“You don’t wanna walk around the block?”

“I think you should get the chance to have a Christmas present as well,” Cas said, voice husky and full of so much promise. Grabbing Dean by the hand, Cas almost pulled Dean’s arm out of its socket as he dragged Dean back towards the hotel proper.

***

When Cas slammed the door to his rooms closed, Dean found himself thankful that they had had the foresight to put everyone else on different floors to the floor the two of them occupied. Cold fingers made hard work of removing clothes, but soon they were both naked and kissing and Cas was worked them towards his bedroom and the bed there.

Their progress was slow, their mouths insistent and hands all too everywhere that they stumbled over Cas’s many chairs and foot rests as they made their way through his living room. Cas shoved Dean against a bookcase and claimed his mouth, sending books toppling to the floor as he rutted against him, pushing his leg between Dean’s thighs. Cas was eager and hungry, like the freedom he had been given had left him slightly wild. There had always been a degree of restraint with how Cas had treated Dean before, but as Cas lifted Dean so that he could wrap his legs around Cas’s hips, it was becoming clear that Cas wasn’t holding back as much as usual.

Cas carried Dean into the bedroom, mouth insistent as it kissed up and down Dean’s neck, sucking hungrily at the tender skin there. Dean was going to have hickeys after all this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he moaned and ground up against Cas’s torso. Between Dean’s cheeks, Cas’s cock slid, slicked by his pre-come, as Dean’s length rubbed against Cas’s stomach. They were a tangle of limbs and need as Cas landed them on the bed, pushing Dean up into the middle.

Strong hands pulled and pressed at Dean, Cas arranging Dean until his thighs were wide open. “Can I taste you?” Cas asked, a finger gently stroking at the furl of muscle to Dean’s asshole.

“Yes,” Dean gasped.

Wasting no time, Cas ducked down between Dean’s legs and held him open with his strong fingers, tongue teasing wet and hot. Dean whimpered as Cas’s tongue got past that first ring of muscle, determined and sending waves of want cascading through Dean, laving at the ring of muscle each time he pulled back before pushing back in. As he was pulled apart by Cas’s tongue, he suspected that perhaps a part of Cas’s dragon-ness was letting his tongue go deeper than a human’s would.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned, body now warmed up after their trip outside. He wanted to push down on the press of Cas’s tongue, wanted to, but Cas’s strong hands held Dean in place.

Cas pulled back for a second, warm breath ghosting over the moistness of Dean’s pucker and it felt agonizing to be bereft of the insistent pressure of Cas’s tongue. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Cas, please,” Dean begged. Begged for Cas’s mouth to return, to be touched, to be fucked—anything to relieve the need that was slowly burning him from the inside out.

Instead of his tongue returning, Cas climbed off the bed, making Dean whine in the back of his throat. Cas shushed him as he moved around his nightstand and then returned with a bottle of lube. Pumping some of the cool, slick liquid onto his right index finger, Cas then knelt between Dean’s legs. He placed his left hand on Dean’s right hip and then started to press his lubed finger slowly inside of Dean.

“So eager,” Cas stated, as Dean’s hole eagerly swallowed Cas’s finger up past the first and then the second knuckle. Soon his finger was seated deeply inside Dean and Cas leaned over Dean, shifting their positions so that he could kiss across Dean’s chest as he slowly fucked Dean on his finger.

One digit soon became two and Dean couldn’t stay quiet as Cas worked him open. Words fell from Dean’s lips, much of it was Cas’s name over and over, but here and there were observations that would have made Dean blush if he had been conscious of saying them. It had been a long time since anyone had really taken their time with Dean after all.

Cock curving up towards his stomach and leaking, Dean wanted to come, but he wanted to do it on more than just Cas’s fingers.

“Cas, please, can you, just please!” Dean cried, sweat beading across his chest by this point.

Grinning up from Dean’s chest, Cas asked, “Are you saying you want me to fuck you, Dean?”

Dean gave Cas a desperate look. “Please!”

“Because you asked so nicely,” Cas chuckled, “I’ll let you have your Christmas present.” He pulled his fingers out, leaving Dean achingly empty and then manhandled him onto his front and all fours.

There was the click of more lube being pumped and then Dean felt the hot nudge of Cas’s blunt head pressing insistently at his hole. He held as still as he could and tried to relax as Cas eased himself inside of Dean, the weight of Cas’s length heavy and firm as it pressed inside deeper and deeper until Cas’s bottomed out.

“So tight,” Cas said, inching back and then thrusting forward. The movement jostled Dean and made him see stars. He was relaxed as he could be, but Cas seemed to relish Dean’s tightness. He put a hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, and held him in place as he reached down and around Dean, a hand easily wrapping around Dean’s leaking cock.

They were a writhing mass of pleasure as Cas fucked into Dean, his thrusts timed and angled just right, hitting Dean’s sweet spot deep inside on most thrusts. The fullness he felt was perfect as his nerves lit up with Cas’s ministrations. Desperate to come, Dean pushed back until he leaned into Cas, coming to rest against Cas’s knees, forcing Cas to hold onto him as he thrust into Dean.

Peppering the back of Dean’s neck and shoulders with sucking kisses, Cas fucked up into Dean, one arm across Dean’s chest as his other hand gripped Dean’s cock and fisted him in time with the thrusts. A growing sense of pressure built up in the base of Dean’s spine, and radiated out to his balls, he could feel himself on the verge of release, he just needed one final push from Cas.

“Cas, I’m almost there!” Dean gasped.

Taking the hint, Cas renewed his efforts as he bounced Dean on his lap, hips snapping upwards erratically as Cas drew close to his release too. The two of them panted and moaned, breaths hard to come by as they soared closer and closer to the edge.

And then it punched Dean in the gut, as he tipped over and made a mess over his stomach and Cas’s hand and sheets. Behind him, Cas stuttered to a halt, hips shaking as he spilled into Dean. They cried each other’s names and eventually fell into a messy heap on Cas’s bed.

Sometime later, Dean was vaguely aware of Cas moving around him and cleaning them up, before drawing Dean underneath his comforter. Dean was finally pulled into something resembling sleep.


	17. Epilogue

Christmas was good and happened without further incident, though Jack got lost at the mall when they took him clothes shopping for the first time.

A year at The Ddraig found Jack starting his first semester of college and the east wing returned to its former glory.

Dean and Cas were still together. Cas had not reopened the hotel as a regular venue, but was hosting regular LARP events with Charlie and Dean’s help.

Life was very different from when Dean had first found the listing for Cas’s ad. For one, Cas was now able to travel beyond the hotel and his rear claws were being kept naturally short. In fact Dean had been on many thrilling flights through the air, goggles on his face, Cas between his legs, as they soared across the countryside of South Dakota and beyond.

Secondly, Dean had found ways of handling ghosts that were different to Jack. The ones who seemed like echoes of their deaths or spirits out for revenge. And he sometimes went out to exorcise them, including the presence at the apartment that had haunted him in what seemed like a different lifetime.

The third difference was that while Dean was still working at The Bunker, covering Garth whenever the full moon was due, he had also befriended the baker who supplied them. Benny was a vampire and had a wicked sense of humor that Dean allowed himself the chance to appreciate.

And while there were several supernatural creatures in his life, Dean didn’t dive head on into it. Instead, he helped where he knew he could, and spent most of his days making Cas happy and helping him to discover parts of the world that he had never met before or had forgotten.

The Ddraig slowly revealed itself to Sioux Falls, as they wound down the spell that had kept it shrouded from the world. But Cas’s status as a dragon remained known only to Dean, Charlie, Sam, Eileen and Jack.

And then Bobby as well, after he came round to drop off a cherry pie Ellen had baked.

Then Ellen after she wondered why Bobby hadn’t returned from the hotel.

No one fainted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this fic. Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Please don't forget to [check out Flux's amazing art](https://aiulbones.tumblr.com/post/632058194004443137/dcbb-2020-art-masterpost-for-the-ddraig-ao3-by).
> 
> I'm [hitthebookspost](https://twitter.com/hitthebookspost) on Twitter. See my [carrd here for more info on where to find me](https://hit-the-books.carrd.co/).


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